


Musing

by girlskylark



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Antagonistic Lotor, Aromantic Asexual Pidge | Katie Holt, Artist Lance (Voltron), Asexual Keith (Voltron), Asexual Pidge | Katie Holt, Asexuality, Fluff and Humor, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Lack of Communication, Lance accidentally convinces Keith to become a nude model, Lance just wants to draw Keith's beautiful face, M/M, Pining Lance (Voltron), Plant nerd Keith, Semi-Scott Pilgrim vibes, Shiro and Lance are roommates, Shiro's an RA, aromance, art student lance, eventual shallura, it'll all make sense eventually, literally Keith doesn't know how to text, not-serious love triangle with Lotor, soft romance, subtle platonic Shidge I should probably tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-10-24 17:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 116,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10746609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlskylark/pseuds/girlskylark
Summary: Lance was almost positive he had never encountered a more perfect, beautiful, inspiring stranger before this sudden walk-by. They had the sort of presence that knocked the air out of him, the words out of his mouth, and so... he never learned the name of said stranger. But when his accidental "WANTED" signs catch the notice of his peers, he's steered in the direction that's closer fit to the path his future muse leads.Keith is... a mystery. Maybe it's his aloofness that makes him so broodingly calm. Whatever the case, Lance becomes determined to draw that idiot's face into oblivion, even if there's little chance of a romance happening between them. But sometimes showing appreciation for the person you love happens to be from afar, and with a pencil and paper in hand.





	1. I Swear He's Real & His Name Isn't Ken

**Lance:** _Have you ever seen someone so beautiful that you actually teared up a little?_

****_I mean, like, just a little bit._

**Pidge:** _We’ve been over this. I can’t relate to your level of thirst, man._

**Lance:** _Whatever. Just trust me on this. It happened._

  


Pidge went on to explain the obvious: Of course Lance wouldn’t see this devastatingly, tragic, _beautiful_ man ever again. Those were just the consequences of going to a huge-ass school that basically served as a mini city. It _was_ it’s own city. ...Which meant… Lance could walk by the same spot every day for an entire week and never run into that guy again. He itched to take a picture, but he couldn’t get his phone out fast enough before they were beyond the point of crossing paths. Lance was in such a daze he stumbled on his shoes and tripped into a girl passing by. Though, he had a nice conversation with her while they kicked aside the fallen ice cubes from her Starbucks drink and planned on getting together later that week for a coffee.

He couldn’t seem to concentrate on _that_ either. 

_What the hell is wrong with me?_ he thought as he dragged his hands through his hair before plotting to memorize the date and time the girl wrote onto his hand. 

_Writing_ , he mused, instantly perking up. _Pen, I need a pen_ —

He scrambled through his bag as the class started. He flipped to a fresh page on his notebook and started to scribble down information in the form of lines, scratch-marks, and anything that could possibly resemble the face that did _this_ to him. How could he ever go on without another look into those soulful—albeit, distracted—eyes? There was a certain aloofness about this character Lance began to conjure up. The kind that suggested _No_ , _of course he wouldn’t look at the camera_. Or, _Yes, that was the color of his headphones_. _He probably listens to rock, but, like,_ older _, out-of-style rock_. He made a mental note to force Pidge to help him create a playlist for this bizarre, angelic creature so Lance could draw all of the portraits of him to this music. 

He hadn’t realized it until everyone started packing up that he _literally_ spent the entire class drawing. _Well, it’s not the first time_ , he thought to himself as he was about to close his notebook.

“Holy hell, that’s so fucking good,” someone spoke up beside him. 

Lance jumped a little, startled by the compliment. He looked up at the guy now lingering over his desk to get a look at Lance’s portrait. “May I?” the guy asked, and Lance shrugged, sliding the notebook over.

It suddenly occurred to Lance that flaunting around a semi-realistic drawing of a stranger he saw in passing _probably_ wasn’t the best idea. That was evident the second the guy said, “I’m not much of a drawer myself, but this is fucking good. It kinda looks like this one guy I know.”

“Really?” Lance perked up, hastily scrambling out of his seat to look at the portrait again to make sure they were thinking about the same guy. “How would you describe him?”

“I dunno. Kinda broody, quiet. Doesn’t talk much unless he’s prodded, ya know? I mean, I just met him this week but… labs, ya know. Gotta talk to your lab partner and stuff. Kind of a course requirement,” the guy said with a laugh, handing the notebook back so Lance could put it away. “Sorry, forgot to introduce myself. Hunk.”

“Lance,” he replied, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and accepting the hand Hunk reached out. They wound up walking out together by happenstance, and so he decided to pull the conversation a bit longer. “So… not gonna lie—I might have seen the guy you’re talking about out in the Quad. We just crossed paths and I felt the need to draw him. You know his name?”

“Nah. I’m terrible with names—usually takes a few times to memorize ‘em,” Hunk confessed, squinting up at the sky before looking at Lance again. “So I hope you won’t be offended when I ask for your name again next class.”

“No offense taken, my dude. Where you headin’ next?” he asked. They were approaching an intersection of walkers and bikers, and they paused to avoid being flattened by one of those horribly dangerous death-machines. _God_ , did Lance hate the bikers around campus. 

“I have a class on the other side of campus, so I gotta go to the bus station. You?” he asked.

“Dorm. I live in Kingsley.”

“Ah, Mayhew. Good Ol’ Mayhem, as I like to call it,” Hunk laughed, and nudged Lance in the shoulder. “See you around.”

“Yeah, see you.”

 _Next week. Next week I’ll get a name_ , Lance promised himself, but moaned aloud as he turned to head towards Kingsley—only to be floored by a bike coming out of nowhere to trample him. “ _Fuck!_ ” both him and the rider screamed, and he flipped off the rider without much thought. He realized that would _definitely_ become a habit he’d have to stamp out before Mama came to visit in two weeks. She’d whack him with a rolling pin if she heard how much he started swearing just within the first two weeks of getting to Arnette University. 

Lance ran his hands down the sides of his face as he meandered down the street to Kingsley. It was one of the farther dorms—not exactly close to the center of the weekend mayhem otherwise known as where Mayhew was. Initially he wanted to live there, for obvious social reasons, but it just didn’t work out that way. Besides, Mayhew was an older building—at Kingsley they had all the newest renovations AKA _awesome showers_. He didn’t mind that one fucking bit. 

The second he lumbered into his room, he threw his backpack onto the futon and soon followed with it. He struggled to nudge his shoes off, but eventually they fell to the ground, and he groaned into the cushions. Where had all of his motivation gone? 

The writing glared on his hand, and he frowned at it before sitting up and trying to remember what the girl looked like. Grey hair, right? It was definitely dyed, and kind of edgy. Maybe he had a thing for edgy people…

 _The Guy_. 

Lance pulled out his notebook and tore out the page with The Guy’s face on it. It was still fresh in his memory. His motivation returned again, and he ran to his desk where he stuffed all of his art supplies. He pulled out his pencil set and an _actual_ sketchbook, and began the process of rendering the image he had in his head, and translating it onto paper all over again. He kept his original sketch taped over his desk for a reference, and an hour later, when Pidge got out of class, he had a few song suggestions to apply to The Guy.

He was so enveloped in coloring it in that he hadn’t even heard his roommate come in until the volume on the speakers was turned down. Lance paused for a minute and looked over his shoulder. “What, Shiro?” he asked.

“Bit loud, huh? The neighbors’ll hate us,” his roommate said. Lance scoffed and leaned back on his chair, hooking his arm over the back. Shiro always tended to notice whatever Lance was doing, and came over to investigate further. “Drawing again, huh?”

“Yeah, you could say that. A synonym would be ‘ _dying_ ,’ but I go for either.” Shiro scoffed at that, and gently tapped his finger on the pad of paper, leaning against the wooden post of the loft. “What?”

“I’m pretty sure I know this guy. You using a reference picture or something?” he asked, and Lance went red all over again. He was thankful his summer tan still hadn’t faded, otherwise it would have been _blatantly_ obvious.

“Uh… not exactly. I might have seen him in the Quad earlier today. Felt like drawing him,” Lance confessed. “You know him?”

“Hell yeah. He’s a cool guy—he’s a sophomore, like me,” Shiro said. “He applied to be an RA, too, but didn’t get in. I think he’s working at a restaurant now or something.”

“Really?” Lance perked up. “Do you know where?”

“Nah, sorry,” Shiro confessed with a sigh, collapsing on the futon and nudging Lance’s backpack aside. He let his arm fall over the back of the futon and looked at Lance, eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Lance practically squeaked, and turned away so fast he got a bit dizzy staring into the light of his lamp. “Nothing! I don’t—I don’t know, just wondering. S-So you know his name then?”

Shiro thought for a moment, and the longer he waited for an answer, the more Lance’s hopes dropped. He forgot—most everything that didn’t have to do with Shiro’s education, or his work as an RA, was useless to him. “Um… God, I can’t remember,” he hissed out, rubbing a hand over the stubble on his chin. “I mean, I _think_ it started with a ‘K.’ Like, Kevin or Kendal or something basic like that.”

Lance snorted and said, “ _Basic_? I didn’t even know you knew mainstream vocabulary.”

Shiro scowled at him and chastised, “Get back to work—and I mean _actual_ work. Stop doodling and work on homework.”

“But what if his name is Kendal? That’s too close to Barbie’s Ken doll,” Lance whined, collapsing over his drawing with a moan. “I can’t afford to fawn over a Ken.”

“You can’t fawn over anything if you’re working on homework,” Shiro told him, promptly taking out his own laptop and notebook. 

Lance studied his profile for a moment. He drew Shiro enough times since his roommate moved in a week ago. Of course, they were all hidden and secret and _never_ to be dug up by _anyone_ other than Lance McClain, but Lance was starting to think that Shiro was a less appealing subject now. Maybe it was because of the fact that they were roommates; Shiro’s excessive thoroughness with sticking to the rules dampened Lance’s mood sometimes. All he could think about was The Guy’s face now, and he was itching to finish the drawing.

“ _Lance_ ,” Shiro warned. “Stop thinking about it and work on homework. I know you have _something_ to work on.”

“So is that how you do it? No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend—you’d probably just avoid her by doing homework,” Lance remarked, and turned away with his teeth biting his lip before he could see the deadly glare Shiro turned on him. But mentally, Lance gave himself a high-five. _That was a fucking good one_.

  


  


But what were the chances that Lance now knew two people who knew the face he’d been drawing incessantly? 

The more Lance thought about it, the more concerned he was about flaunting his drawings around. It wasn’t like he _tried_. It was just the nosey people who looked over his shoulder in the middle of class and noticed it lingering on the corner of his notebook, or taking up an entire page in his sketchbook. Within a _week_ he knew two more people, and was going on a third as he met up with the girl at Starbucks in the main campus building.

It was a good thing he recognized her by her hair. After getting a good luck at her, he realized it wouldn’t even be a problem spotting her on campus. She had a unique face, especially with her dark skin and striking blue eyes. He was almost certain they were colored contacts, but then again, emphasis on _almost_ certain.

“Hey, you made it,” she said, and Lance shrugged, slapping his hands down against his thighs.

“Hey, I totally did,” he laughed. “How was your week?” 

She took in a deep, stressful sigh. “It was… fine, if not a horrific slap to the face. So much for the relaxing weekend I had planned,” she said, and gestured that they should probably get in line. It seemed like it was rush hour, which gave them plenty of time to talk. And Lance found that he… didn’t mind it at all. 

She was sarcastic, witty, energetic—and she _definitely_ knew how to talk. She didn’t ramble; she just phrased things in a way that enticed him to know more. It wasn’t until after they rounded the curve in the line that he realized he didn’t even know her name. 

He cut her off quickly, “Wait—we don’t even know each other’s names. I’m Lance.”

“Allura,” she laughed, swapping her phone to her left hand so she could shake his extended hand. Her fingernails were painted a faint blue, nearly the same shade as her eyes. “I’m a freshmen. Medical Sciences.”

He gave an appreciative hum. “Tough major, I respect that.”

“Everyone’s majors are difficult in their own respects. What about you?”

“Undecided, but leaning towards fine arts. I just don’t know what to do with it yet. That seems to be the whole point of this, huh?” he commented, glancing up at the menu. He was about to ask her what she wanted to drink, but the words fizzled up in his mouth and turned to a steady, “Uh…” as his eyes followed the figure turning away from the farthest machine, moving across the counter to hand a drink to a waiting customer…

 _Fuck you, Shiro, for saying The Guy worked at a fucking restaurant_ , Lance thought to himself, feeling his face heat up as he quickly turned his gaze down to the bakery in front of him. He wanted to scream at himself— _You spend all week wondering what restaurant The Guy could work at, and you can’t even look him in the eye when you get the chance?_

“Um… you okay there?” Allura asked him, and he realized that they were up next in line. It was a miracle that The Guy wasn’t manning the register—Lance _never_ would have been able to form a straight sentence if that was the case. By some divine intervention, he was able to order and wait approximately five seconds before turning to Allura and saying:

“Okay, I have a confession to make. I hope you didn’t think this was a date, because I’m not even straight,” he said quietly, and she just seemed amused by it. 

She snorted, her smile pushing her cheeks up against her glittering eyes. “Fuck, what a concept. I sort of figured because no straight guy dresses as well as you. I was kinda keeping my hopes up that you would be straight,” she confessed, and pointedly looked down to survey his outfit. He looked down at it, frowning.

“What’s wrong with my outfit?”

“Literally nothing! That’s the problem!” she laughed. “All the guys who’ve hit on me so far look like basic white guys in khakis and polos. I thought you would save me from them and whisk me away to the nearest H&M wh-where we’d—Hey! S-Stop laughing! You’re gonna make _me_ laugh!”

They both dissolved into giggles, nearly crying from the hilarity of it. In the end, Lance brushed nonexistent tears from his eyes and reached for his phone. They did what any freshmen in college would do—added the other on Snapchat and any other relevant social media. 

When their drinks came up, that momentary spike of fear returned, noting that the voice their names came from was the same one belonging to the face he nonstop drew all that week. His face went red, wishing he’d been able to record it and _God_ , he was turning into a stalker. It was probably a terrible thing for him to know where this Guy worked. 

Whatever the case, Allura saved him and went to fetch the drinks. She had a knowing twinkle in her eyes as she led Lance over to where the half-and-half was. “Ah, I see why you brought it up now. Understandably so,” she commented as she added a dash of milk to each of their coffees before snapping on the caps. “Do you have time to stick around a bit longer? Or do ya gotta go?”

“I can stick around,” he confessed. _It wasn’t like I had anything else planned for today_ , he admitted to himself as he let Allura take the lead and claim a recently opened spot by the windows. After they were seated for nearly five minutes, talking non-stop, he realized just how clever she was. He had a perfect view of the counter where Keith would call out the drinks. _She did this on purpose, that snake_ , he mused, taking a sip of his coffee as he zoned for a moment, studying the figure of the man behind the counter.

“His name’s Keith,” Allura said.

“Hm?” Lance droned, blinking and looking back at Allura. _Wait, she said something important_ —

“Keith. He’s name’s Keith,” she reiterated, and tapped her fingernail on her chest. “I saw his name tag when I picked up the drinks.”

“Wow, you’re observant,” he mused aloud, though inside he was chanting the name. Thankfully, he was nothing like Hunk and Shiro in that manner. He could remember a name just in passing. He never really thought of it as a skill—but mostly he just found them to be important things to remember.

“I try to be when necessary,” she confessed. “You said you saw him a while ago. You planning on talking to him?”

 _Well, I never really thought that far,_ he confessed internally. “Probably not. I don’t think so. You don’t usually _act_ on crushes, you know? Besides, I’m not sure what he’s all about.”

“You didn’t know what _I_ was all about, and likewise for me to you,” she said. “I still would have come even if it _wasn’t_ a date.”

“I know, but that was different. We actually _talked_. We had some connection. I have _no_ connection to him. I can’t just… _walk up_ and say ‘Hey, I think you’re so fucking hot, wanna make out?’”

“Wow, I did _not_ need to hear that.” The voice came from beside them, and both Allura and Lance jumped at the sound of it. Allura went bright red, but Lance turned and merely laughed. It was just Pidge.

She dragged over a spare chair and plopped down. She noted Allura quick enough, but spared only a second to say, “Hey, I’m Katie but most people call me Pidge. Lance is a friend of mine.”

“Oh—Gosh, I was worried there for a second,” Allura laughed, clasping a hand over her heart as she turned her wide eyes to Lance. “I’m Allura. So you two know each other?”

“Yeah, we both live in Kingsley,” he explained. “Welcome Week Buddies.”

“That’s cool that you guys still hang out. My Buddy was kind of a bitch,” Allura confessed with a nervous laugh, leaning back with her arms crossed. “But, that’s for another time. What brings you here, Pidge?”

“Definitely not whatever you two were talking about before,” she snorted. “But I’m here now, so I have to know. You talkin’ about The Guy?”

“The Guy?” Allura repeated.

“The Guy now has a name. His name happens to be _Keith_ , and he’s right over—whoa, where’d he go?” Lance blurted out, panic shooting through him. Allura twisted around to see and _yup_ , Keith wasn’t anywhere behind the counter. They waited to see if anyone came out of the back room, but… alas. 

“Well shit,” Allura said, turning back around. “What an elusive Guy. I swear he was there a minute ago because you were zoning.” Lance gave her a dull look, and Pidge scowled at them. 

“I feel like you’re shitting me with this. What are the chances that I show up and he’s not there,” Pidge complained, and Lance shrugged. “My timing is _always_ on point. So I say this Guy doesn’t exist, and that’s final.”

“He totally exists!” Lance cried out, groaning in distress. He leaned back and forth, craning to see over Pidge’s disinterested face, and stupid fucking circle-glasses. He pegged her with a glare, and she stuck her nose up at him. “Not fair! You came at the wrong time!”

“If he works at the most popular Starbucks on campus, then I bet he gets hit on all the time by girls and guys and you have literally no chance,” she told him, and Allura rolled her eyes, clearly disagreeing.

“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” Allura said. “Try to be a _little_ romantic here.”

Pidge gave her a prosaic glare as Lance propped his chin up on his hand and muttered, “Pidge doesn’t have a romantic bone in her body. She’s aro and doesn’t understand the complications of falling in love with a guy’s beautiful aesthetic.”

“I can appreciate the aesthetic appeal,” Pidge corrected, flushing at the attention, “but acting on it and shifting fond observations to romantic attentions is just not my style. I appreciate humanity’s biological artwork from afar.” With that, she crossed her arms with a curt nod of her head. Allura’s jaw was slightly dropped, and she gave a few soft claps.

“That was spoken beautifully,” she said.

“Thanks, I try,” she said.

At last, Allura just shook her head, laying her hands down on the table and saying, “I don’t understand. So you’ve been _drawing_ this guy all week. You only saw him once!”

Lance’s ears betrayed him. So it wasn’t just _him_ thinking that was a little weird. “I can’t help myself,” he muttered, scratching his neck as he caught Pidge’s evil side-eye. “He’s, like, _perfect_ for drawing material. And— _whoa_ , totally didn’t mean that to come out as _using him to draw._ You savages. Blood leaks everywhere and dries brown. I would never.”

Before Pidge could toss out one of her snarky comebacks, Allura said, “He _is_ probably one of the most beautiful creatures I’ve ever encountered. There’s just… something about his _facial structure_ that screams ‘ _Vogue,_ ’ you know? Or Calvin Klein. Maybe it’s the shape of his eyebrows, I really don’t know what it is.”

“I always thought his nose was the perfect shape,” Lance confessed, practically muffling it into his hand. “But that’s just me! I mean, I agree with you on all points there. Beautiful creature.”

“You two are both insane,” Pidge said, pegging them each with a harsh glare. “Now I sort of want to see him for myself. In person—not another one of your drawings.”

“I’d love to see your drawings, though,” Allura confessed, and Lance shrugged with a soft, “Meh.” She rolled her eyes, drumming her hands on the table. At last, she huffed out, “Well, if you aren’t gonna show me… seems like I should get going. Hope you don’t mind—we’ve been sitting here for ages, Pidge.”

“That explains why The Guy’s shift is over,” she scoffed, and Lance shoved her in the side of her head. Allura scooted out of her chair and tucked it in as she slung her bag over her shoulder. She had on a soft, plum skirt and he noted that her tank top showed a strip of her stomach. “Hey, there’s a party this weekend. There’s a whole Facebook event thing ‘cause your name’s gotta be on the list of attendees to get in. I’ll invite you to it.”

Lance tried his best not to seem to eager. “Yeah! Sounds cool.”

“Awesome. Maybe I’ll see you there. And text me the progress on this Keith guy. I’ll let you know if I see him around campus.”

“Yeah, sure,” Lance laughed, waving as Allura walked off and pushed through the exit door. She passed by the window, and waved to them from the outside. The breeze outside made it look like her hair was twirling about, and Lance noted that it was starting to get dark—not because of the time, but because lingering storm clouds. At last, Lance sighed and nudged his empty coffee cup before saying, “I figured seeing him again would convince me that I didn’t need to draw him anymore.”

“And?” Pidge said with a sniff, leaning back in her chair. She had one ankle propped up on her opposite knee.

“And… it didn’t work. He’s, like… _flawless_. I wish you coulda seen him in person. My drawings don’t do him justice,” he confessed. He looked out the window again, and sighed, “We should probably head back before it rains.”

Pidge noted it as well. “Agreed.”

They gathered their things and tossed Lance’s empty coffee cup on the way out the door. A gust of wind threatened to knock Pidge straight over until Lance gathered her up and pushed her ahead by her shoulders. They were laughing as she hollered, “Quit using me as your human shield!” They scrambled up the steps next to the bus stop and raced across the bridge carrying them over the train tracks along the university roads. They could see the city from here, and they took a second to study it from afar. Besides, it wasn’t like they had much time to just… look at it, even in the midst of an almost-rainstorm.

“Can you believe that we’re actually in college now?” Pidge asked, leaning her forearms against the railing and looking over at Lance. He shrugged, bumping his hip with her’s.

“Fuck yeah. It’s the greatest thing. I’m so glad we’re out of high school,” he confessed before they lapsed into silence. He _did_ miss his ma, but… he was living in the city now! That was exciting, wasn’t it? As they moved on into the Quad’s grassy squares and brick walkways, he thought about how… insane it was to think he was now responsible for himself and no one else. No siblings to look after. No car, no assigned chores…

“Shit!” Pidge shrieked, and there came the sound of crinkled paper rippling against one of the cylinders where everyone stapled their posters. The wind tore a few others off, and they were pelted with papers, screaming and laughing when Lance attempted to run for it. By the time they were out of the mini-tornado of posters, he knew exactly what Pidge was thinking.

“ _No_ , no—we gotta get back to Kingsley before it starts raining,” Lance whined, but she was already rushing forward to pick up the crumpled papers. “Oh, come on—”

“What, don’t you care about the environment? Come help me,” she chastised.

There weren’t students in the quad around this time, and maybe it was because they all got the right idea—it wasn’t exactly _fun_ running around in the middle of a thunderstorm. It wasn’t raining yet, but Lance could smell it in the air, and became distracted by it as he grabbed the papers from Pidge’s outstretched hand and went to dunk them in the nearby recycling bin when—

“At least _some_ people care about trash. God, there’s, like, twenty layers of posters on here.”

How was it possible that Lance could recognize his voice, just from listening to him call out names all day?

Lance’s chest seized up as he turned around, and found a familiar black-haired Guy standing by the cylinder where all the posters were stapled. He had his backpack hooked on one shoulder, a lazy tip in his hips as he tore a page off the cylinder and read, “ _Over The Garden Wall Musical_. Incredible.”

Pidge stood up instantly, gasping, “I fucking love _Over The Garden Wall_! Don’t you dare trash it!” 

Lance thought he might have died a little, because his entire body went numb when Keith scoffed, and his smirk turned into a smile as he walked over to _Lance_. He grabbed a few other posters along the way and came so close that Lance thought he might pass out. What was this horrible, vexing feeling inside his chest that told him to just _run_. How could he possibly face the fact that he—

Keith walked right past him and stuffed the papers in the bin.

Pidge gasped. “You traitor.”

“Doin’ the Lord’s work,” he laughed, and nudged Lance in the arm as he headed back to help Pidge with the posters. _Oh, right, posters_. Lance followed suit, bending down and grabbing more of the papers as Pidge chattered to Keith about the all-powerful cartoon show that seemed to have stolen her heart right from her. _I can definitely relate_ , Lance mused to himself as he noted Keith out of the corner of his eye. 

The Guy had a soft, but angular jawline that ended at the narrow point of his chin. His skin was a flawless, pale shade—nearly translucent, actually. Pidge was no better, but his just seemed… to have a slight pink hue to it, unlike Pidge’s bluish tint from spending all her fucking time indoors. It was the subtlest difference, and finding them laughing next to each other made it all the more obvious. They were finishing up stuffing the posters into the bin when Pidge pointed out Keith’s jean jacket.

“Nice patches. Where’d you get ‘em?” she asked, and specifically jabbed a purple one on his bicep. “Specifically this one.”

Keith looked at it, and then back at her, and then back at the patch. Lance could see the wheels turning in his head, and that gentle pout of his lips nearly drew tears to Lance’s eyes. _What the fuck is going on_ …

Eventually Pidge twisted her backpack around and showed him a similar pin. It was striped, just like Keith’s, and Lance’s heart just about dropped straight through his stomach. Lance and Pidge had enough conversations about that particular pin for him to know _exactly_ what was going on. “You’re the first person I’ve met here who’s ace too,” Pidge said. “But then again, I’ve only been here for a few weeks so…”

“Actually, same,” Keith laughed. “In terms of the first person I’ve met. But then again, it’s not like a lot of people flaunt it around.”

“Right, right. So are you a freshmen then?” she asked, and they were just about to dissolve into yet another conversation when a water droplet splashed right onto her round glasses. Lance was still staring at them like they were aliens—but then again, it looked like Keith had an alien patch on his denim jacket along with a few National Park patches.

“Shit, it’s raining,” Lance commented, looking up at the sky through the mesh of trees arching over their heads. When he looked back down, he met Keith’s eyes—it was like The Guy hadn’t even realized Lance was there the entire time. They stared at each other for a moment, until Lance grew worried. Did it look like he was trying to check Keith out? Would that make him uncomfortable? _God_ , Lance could still remember the time when Pidge punched him for checking her out that first time they met during Welcome Week.

But Keith didn’t punch him, and instead cleared his throat before looking over his shoulder. “Well, I should probably be going. Where are you two headed?”

“Kingsley,” Lance replied as he reached behind him to pull his umbrella out of the side pocket on his backpack. “What about you?”

“Ah. Well, not exactly near there,” he replied. _Well that’s a bit vague_ , Lance thought bitterly, and realized he was too much of a coward now to pry further. “I’ll see you two around.”

He saluted Pidge, and on the downward motion of his hand, gave Lance another punch to the arm. They both just stood there for a while, until there was a long enough delay for Lance’s umbrella to signal their own departure. Still, Pidge seemed a bit out of it. She was smiling like crazy though, so Lance asked, “What are you smiling about? You look like a serial killer on the hunt.”

“That may be. We never got his name,” she said. “I’ll have to dig him up on the internet. He looked really familiar, so I mean I bet I could find something easy enough.”

“Maybe that’s because you recognize him from my drawings,” he commented, continuing to walk before realizing that Pidge wasn’t following suit. She was staring at him, and then pointed off to where Keith disappeared. Lance sighed dramatically, slapping his hand down. “What? Come on, you’re gonna get all wet.”

“Wait—you mean…? That’s The Guy? That’s Keith?” she hissed at him, quiet enough so it wouldn’t carry across the Quad. 

Lance felt like screaming. How obvious did he have to be? “ _Yes_ , that’s what I just said. Now come _on_ —”

“Why didn’t you ask him out, then?” she demanded, and Lance’s entire face went red. Was she seriously going to fight him on this right now, when they were a good ten minutes from Kingsley in the pouring rain? “Look, he’s right over there! You could run and catch up to him!”

“But—”

“But _what_? I agree he’s pretty cute. I’m not _blind_ , Lance—”

“Yeah, but he’s _ace_ , Pidge,” he hissed at her, stepping up so he could hold the umbrella over the both of them. Clearly she wasn’t going to move until they finished this. “I can’t just… _ask him out_.”

“Sure you can,” she said. “What’s being ace got to do with it?”

Lance just stared at her. It seemed like she had enough sense to know why that was. Eventually she picked up on it one way or another, because she groaned aloud and said, “ _Lance_ , just because he’s asexual doesn’t mean he doesn’t go on dates! Ya just gotta find out his boundaries and stuff, ya know?”

“So you’re saying that if I asked you out on a date, you’d say yes,” Lance deadpanned, and Pidge’s ears went red, shoulders bunching up. “ _Exactly_. That’s what I thought.”

“But that’s just me! Everyone’s different about that kind of shit,” she muttered, and pointedly stuffed her hood over her heavy, shoulder-length curls. Her bangs were soaked, and her normally ginger-hair turned brown, framing the roundness of her cheeks. “So you gonna catch up to him?”

Lance had to admit, he considered it. It seemed like a tempting offer. And it wasn’t like he was opposed to running, especially when that beautiful, brooding face was at the finish line. Then again… he wasn’t sure _what_ he was looking for aside from that. What was his end goal? He had to have an end goal. There he was, spending all week thinking about this one guy, and never knowing what to do when it came to actually _seeing_ him face-to-face. 

He frowned, thinking about what he and Allura talked about. So he shook his head and said, “No, I don’t think so. C’mon, let’s get moving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can always fight me over on [Tumblr](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/geewiIIikers) as well :)


	2. Interrogating People Is One Way To Find Keith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance verbally fights Shiro, and fights people for information in general.

_I’ve made a grave mistake._

Lance thought this that same night as he lay with his eyes on the ceiling over his loft. He could hear Shiro’s soft, even breath across the room, and realized that he was probably the only person in this entire goddamn hallway who was up at this hour thinking about how _stupid_ he was. Pidge was right. He shouldn’t have let the fact that Keith was ace get in the way of _true love_ , or whatever bullshit his mind was trying to convince him off. 

Nothing would exactly cure this dilemma, except for actually facing the facts and confronting Keith once and for all. The fact that Keith had no idea that Lance was planning absolute warfare was unequivocally hilarious. It was so amusing that Lance even smiled a little. The chances that Keith was up at night thinking about _Lance_ were slim to none, so why was Lance suffering like this? 

He was starting to think that being asexual made life so much easier. Maybe he wouldn’t be fawning so hopelessly over Keith at four A.M. 

_Fuck_.

When Lance finally woke up after a shallow sleep, it was to the streak of sunlight that managed to slip past the small gap in the curtains. His phone said eight o’ clock. _Fine, I’ll get up I guess_ , he muttered to himself. It was Saturday, which just didn’t seem fair at all, and surprisingly he found Shiro already awake fiddling on his phone. He had his pillow propped up against the wall, legs crossed at the ankles. 

“Mornin’,” Lance said as he descended from the loft. He landed on his desk, the chair, and at last onto the floor.

“Wow, what are you doing up,” Shiro asked.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he confessed, rubbing his hands over his eyes and saying, “I saw Keith yesterday. Pidge and I both, actually.”

“No kidding. How’d that go?” he asked, and Lance shrugged. His silence seemed to unnerve his roommate. “What, so you spend all week rambling about the guy, and you just drop him? Like that?”

“I am _not!_ ” Lance shrieked, voice cracking. “I’m just—It’s complicated now. I don’t know. We’ll see what happens.”

“Are you serious right now?” Shiro complained. “Do we need to have an intervention? Because I am fully qualified to set one up.”

Lance scoffed as he dug around in his little cubby of a closet, and started to strip. He shimmied into fresh boxers and shorts and prepared to head to the showers. “ _No,_ I don’t need an intervention. It’s just—I don’t know. Did you know he’s ace? Keith is asexual.”

“Pff, that doesn’t exist,” Shiro said, and he was out of view so he didn’t get to see the way Lance’s jaw dropped. “It’s biologically impossible.”

“So are you suggesting Pidge doesn’t exist? I mean, sometimes I find it hard to believe that nerds like Pidge exist because that level of neediness is just bizarre, but…” Lance started, and he swore he could hear Shiro roll his eyes. 

“It’s just not a thing. Sure, you can decide you don’t want to have sex and I respect that, but biologically we’re all programmed to hunt for the perfect mate and procreate. That’s just how it is. And yeah, I mean… I feel like we’re starting to move away from the ‘procreate’ part because we’ll all die from overpopulation if we don’t, but… we’re _far_ from an asexual mindset,” Shiro said.

“You’ve lost me. It’s too fucking early for this argument,” Lance muttered as he stepped out of his closet to grab his phone from where it was charging up on his loft. He jumped up and snatched it. “Besides, Pidge says ace is more than just not liking sex. It’s romance too, and I don’t know what Keith’s all about yet so I don’t feel… qualified to ask him out, you know?”

“Well, if you’re looking for sex or romance, then I’d say you’re out of luck,” Shiro commented, now rolling onto his stomach with his cheek pressed to the side of his mattress, staring down at Lance fiddle with his bluetooth speaker. “I mean, you never really _talked_ about Keith like he’s someone you’d have a fling with. Sex or whatever.”

“That’s the thing. I don’t know what my end-goal is yet,” Lance confessed. “I’m pretty sure it’s more than just being friends, ya know?”

Lance went back to his closet, and just before he prepared to leave for the showers, Shiro said, “What about, like… a muse? Artists have that, don’t they?”

“A muse?” he repeated. He’d heard the word plenty of times, but it just made him all fidgety inside. It was… weird and stalkerish in his opinion. Keith would _definitely_ find that stalkerish, wouldn’t he? If Lance was _anyone’s_ muse, he’d definitely find it bizarre. “Pff, no. Definitely not that. Totally not. Why would you suggest that? S-Stop talking about it! We’re done here—too early to talk about fuckin’... fuckin’ _whatever-the-fuck!_ ” Lance squeaked out before hurrying out the door, leaving Shiro to laugh tiredly from atop his bunk.

He scrambled out into the hallway, face red and beyond annoyed. He wondered if Pidge got like this when people claimed that asexuality wasn’t a thing. But then again, Keith was right about that tidbit—Pidge never really flaunted it around. The only reason they ever got onto the topic was after one long day during Welcome Week where they collapsed in her single room and talked until past midnight, drinking booze her older brother bought her as a “Welcome to college!” present. If that hadn’t happened, Lance was certain it never would have came up. Prior to then, they just had this… mutual understanding that there would be no flirting between them.

When he got out of the shower and dressed for the day, he spent a solid thirty minutes laying on the ground until Shiro finally got out of bed to get ready for the day. He swung down off his loft and landed swiftly on two feet—narrowly missing Lance’s arm by a few inches. He put his hands on his hips, looking down at Lance with a look of concern. 

“You good?” he asked, and Lance shrugged, purposefully exaggerating his pout. Shiro rolled his eyes with a scoff, nudging Lance with his foot before moving over to his closet. Lance peered up at him, watching as Shiro stepped in front of his mirror, upside down, and combed his hands through his hair. He met Lance’s gaze through the mirror and said, “Could you turn away? I’m gonna change.”

“Fine,” Lance whined, rolling onto his stomach and bracing his hands on the carpet. He hoisted himself up and went over his backpack.

They worked on homework together until the dining hall opened for brunch. By then, Lance’s stomach was growling angrily at him, and there was absolutely no need for Shiro to drag him to the hall. There wasn’t anything special about the Kingsley dining hall, aside from its exquisite ability to reuse the pasta noodles for the entire day and then some—and also their excellent french toast. Yes, that too.

Lance grabbed three of them because he was a growing boy with a metabolism that could devour an entire pizza, no sweat. He knew Shiro was giving him a weird look, and wasn’t all that surprised when Shiro said, “You don’t even fucking work out enough to justify _that_.”

“It’s called the Freshmen Fifteen.”

Shiro shook his head, smiling as he said, “C’mon, you know as well as I do that comes from drinking excessive amounts of alcohol you wouldn’t normally have consumed in high school. It’s _definitely_ not the dining hall food.”

 _Yeah, ‘cause the dining hall food isn’t good enough to get fat on, nor is it worth the cost_ , Lance mused to himself as he scooped up some floppy bacon and let it slide past. Bacon was good, even when it was bad.

Contrary to popular belief, Lance’s RA wasn’t stuck up and somehow managed to befriend everyone in their hall—in other words, Shiro was one of the cool RAs in Kingsley. That’s not to say the rest were trash; it just so happened that Shiro was comically conversational with the freshmen. It was sort of in the way that dads tended to embarrass their kids, and everyone just found it hilarious. Maybe it was because of Shiro’s tendencies to geek out at the weirdest shit with the dorks of their friend group.

Lance found their table easily—it was by the window, and was where Pidge sat slumped over her bowl of oatmeal, slopping her spoon around in it without much care. “Hey, rough night?” he joked as he slid into the chair opposite her. He greeted the others before Pidge finally answered.

“Sorta. Stayed up ‘till three trying to finish my homework so I don’t have to worry about it for tonight,” she confessed.

He was in the middle of shoveling handfuls of bacon into his mouth. “Why?” he asked, covering his mouth with his hand so he could chew. 

Pidge glared at him. Jesus, it looked like she was hungover—but that was pretty much any morning for her. “ _Why?_ _You’re_ the one who invited me to the fucking frat party tonight. I’ve suddenly made a habit of doing my homework on Saturday nights and I change my schedule and you don’t even remember the party. For fuck’s sake—”

“Hey, I totally remembered!” Lance blurted out. He totally didn’t. “Allura invited me to it, right?”

“God, you don’t remember at all. You have the memory of a goldfish, and by that I mean it only lasts six seconds,” she hissed at him, and the guy next to her nearly spat out his milk.

Lance refused to be offended by it. He stuck his nose up and said, “Whatever. At least get some sleep before the party. You look like death.”

“Thanks, I try.”

The second Shiro swept in to take the spot of a girl who was leaving, the entire table erupted into shouts and cheers and claps, and Shiro graciously bowed to them before taking his seat. “All right, that’s enough. We don’t want to disturb anyone’s breakfast, or their hangovers,” he said, and then pointedly glared at them all. “ _Which_ , I totally don’t condone.”

“Wow, you must be fun at parties,” someone laughed, and Shiro pegged them with yet another glare and earned a bunch of “Oooh, you’ve done it now!” exclamations. 

“I’ll have you know, I was a beer pong _champion_ last year. Surprisingly I have incredible depth perception when I’m drunk,” Shiro said, and quickly cleared his throat as he rose his orange juice glass to his lips. “And by that, I mean I don’t drink at all. Stop looking at me.”

Lance concealed his laugh with a cough to his elbow before getting back to eating. Pidge was smirking over the rim of her coffee mug.

  


  


Lance spent the day challenging his neighbors to a few games of Mortal Kombat before settling on watching one of them play Last of Us for _hours_. Sure, he had homework, but that was what Sunday was for. He knew his brain and body would destroy him for it after tonight, but… it was totally worth it, right? It was his first frat party—of course he wouldn’t go to it sober. What was he, an amateur?

Probably.

He started drinking _way_ before Pidge. They still had some of Matt’s booze left, so he drank from that while Pidge changed in her closet and fretted over how she looked. “I like the shorts. I think you should just go with shorts.”

“It’ll be cold out, though.”

“So? It’ll get sweaty in the frat.”

“Yeah, and how would you know?” she chastised, and he went pink at the ears. Even his tan wouldn’t help him there. “Exactly. But… do I look slutty wearing shorts? I don’t want to look slutty.”

“You won’t. I promise,” he said, but it came out as a drawl. His tongue was working slower than he intended. She frowned at him and marched over, grabbing the bottle and capping it. “But—!” 

“No butts,” she said as she stuffed the vodka into the freezer. He found it funny because when she bent over, her bum stuck out towards him. He had half a mind to slap it, but knew he’d get slapped _for_ it, so he didn’t.

When she stood up again, she tugged down on the patched-up hem of her high-waisted shorts and said, “I dunno. I think… tonight I wanna try dancing with a guy? Would you be my wingman?”

“Wait, really?” he said, startled by it. She shrugged.

“Well… yeah. I mean, I should probably try it out once just to see how it is. I mean, is it fun? Dancing with girls?” she asked him, and he rolled his eyes. “C’mon, you probably danced with girls at school dances, right?”

“Pff, yeah, but I dunno. I was kinda gay back then, too,” he laughed, but Pidge didn’t find it funny. “ _Look_ , it’s not a big deal. I’ll be your wingman, okay?”

She looked nervous, but nodded anyway. She wasn’t wearing glasses that night, and her eyes just looked kind of small without them. But then she went and sat in front of the mirror for another fifteen minutes applying makeup, and suddenly they popped. She caught his eye through the mirror and smiled, purple lipstick and everything. He smiled back. “You ready?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

He took out the vodka and offered her it. She took a quick swig and gave it back, a purple rim around it now. “Let’s do this,” she said.

They went in their jackets because September was turning into winter faster than they intended. There were people up and about even at this hour—it was nearly ten now, and it took a good fifteen minutes to walk to the frat. Maybe because they were taking their time. Maybe because they were both nervous. Lance couldn’t really tell. But eventually, they found themselves at the door to the frat, waiting in line to pay and get their names checked off on the list.

Pidge was fidgeting next to him, looking small in her leather jacket, and the collar that lifted around her ginger curls. “You think there’s a lot of people in there?” she asked, nodding towards the tinted windows down the side of the house. They could see the shadows of people in the flickering strobes. 

“I dunno, probably,” he laughed, and she bumped hips with him. It was their turn to go up to the table.

It was just inside the open doors, and the orangey light of that hallway highlighted the guys gathered in the foyer, practically guarding the house. There was an archway behind them—a glimpse into the living room where people danced. “Name,” the guy said, tipping his eyes up to meet their’s. 

“Um, Lance McClain,” he said, taking out a five dollar bill and handing it to the cash box guy. He got his name checked off.

“Alright. Get your stamp right over there,” the guy told him, gesturing towards one of the guard-looking dudes with the ink laying open on the table. He held his hand out, and the guy laid a stamp over the back of his palm. It was a star. 

Lance waited for Pidge, and he could already tell it’d be too hot for their coats. “I’ll take care of the jackets. You go ahead and scope it out,” he told her, already shrugging off his jacket. Pidge nodded, swallowing hard and offering a brave smile.

“Cool, cool. Come find me when you’re done with that,” she said, and wandered off through the archway. Something just seemed… _eerie_ about how the foyer was lit in orange, and the open door outside and the archway just seemed so _dark_.

Lance found the coatroom easy enough, and had their names put onto the jackets and hung onto the racks. He made sure to grab his phone and make sure Pidge’s wasn’t left behind. It helped that they both kept their student IDs tucked against the back of their phone cases.

He let out a deep sigh as he crossed the foyer again, and went into the living room with the dazzling lights, and the mass of moving bodies across the floor. There wasn’t so much a sway to the music as there was a conglomeration of drunken idiots throwing their arms up and out and writhing against one another. Lance stuck to the outer rim of it all—talk about _claustrophobic_.

He searched the crowd for Pidge, and his gaze stuck to this outer rim he found himself on. It was near the wood paneled walls, and the window sills where guys and girls sat together, or kept their drinks on standby. He spotted her standing on the edge of a group of people lingering around, her hands clasped over her stomach and staring at them all. Most everyone around her had to be a head or two taller than her.

When he approached her, he was careful to make himself present in front, so she caught his eyes and beamed at him. “Hey! You found me,” she shouted over the bass.

“Yeah! Yeah wanna dance?” he asked, and her eyes went wide. He laughed and said, “Not like—I didn’t mean _us_ , just in general!”

She laughed. “Oh, sure!”

He led the way through the throng of people, until they found themselves in the thick of it, letting the rhythm of everyone else carry them. It didn’t take long for Lance to find himself squished between a few strangers, laughing as he let them take the lead, holding onto his arms, his hips. He looked over at Pidge frequently enough to see that she’d found a partner to dance with—a girl who looked to be several years older than her. It wasn’t that much of a surprise, considering Pidge was a young prodigy who skipped a few grades along the way.

The had their hands clasped together, and the girl was saying something that made Pidge burst out laughing. Lance smiled despite himself as his eyes coasted past the girl he was dancing with, almost as if his attention knew _juuust_ where to land—

—on a familiar head of raven black hair, and the shadow of a profile he remembered all too well.

Lance stopped dancing in an instant.

Maybe it was his alcohol-induced mind that convinced him that ducking through the mob was a good idea. He disappeared within the masses of people, distractedly apologizing to the girl he’d been dancing with. He kept his head up, looking around for that fucking Guy—he could’ve sworn he just saw Keith out there. But where’d he suddenly go? It was just for a split second, so… he nearly convinced himself that he was just seeing things. He _had_ been drawing Keith constantly lately; he couldn’t really _blame_ his brain for inserting Keith into this party. He’d been half-hoping to see Keith around here, but the guy just didn’t seem like the type to show up at a frat party.

Lance peered over a few heads until a guy next to him looked around, eyes bleary as he asked, “You lookin’ for somethin’?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m just lookin’ for a guy—kinda has a mullet, looks like he’s wearing a bun right now though. His name’s—”

“Oh, you’re probably lookin’ for Keith,” the guy said, and Lance sputtered out, shaking his head, “Wait—I’m confused. How do you know Keith?”

“Dude, everyone knows Keith,” the stranger laughed, giving Lance a pat on the shoulder and saying, “Last I saw him, he was out on the top deck smoking.”

“Wait—”

“But, like, you know. Not _real_ smoke. The guy’s not hardcore enough for that,” he explained. Lance just stared at him until he was bumped in the side by another guy. He apologized and stammered out a thanks to the stranger before running off, hearing a faint, “Good luck, my dude!” from behind.

Lance tried to remember where he saw the stairs—by the foyer. He hurried out into the orange light and scrambled to the steps. They creaked under his feet, but he was moving too fast to care. He staggered out onto the half-landing, stepping around people who were sitting around there. 

“Oops—sorry, excuse me—” he apologized, nearly crushing a girl’s hand on the way up.

“No worries. You lookin’ for the bathroom? Around the corner, to the left,” she said, pointing up the stairs.

“Uh, no. I’m actually looking for a guy. Black hair, kinda Asian, I think he’s wearing a flannel. The name’s Keith?” Lance asked, and one of the girls perked up from farther down the steps. She had her forearms resting on her knees, and she tilted her head back to look at him upside-down.

“Oh! Yeah, I saw him a little while ago! Bit of a mysterious fucker, isn’t he?”

“You saw him? Where?” Lance said, hurrying back down to sit beside her. She rolled her head back into place and nodded it towards him. 

“I let him try my vape stick. I see him once in awhile at parties—cool guy. Real philosophical shit,” she said, and nodded up the stairs. “Said he needed to piss and ran off.”

“Bathroom’s upstairs, ‘round the corner, to the left,” the other girl repeated as Lance scrambled to his feet and thanked them all. He got a few solid high-fives on the way, and a “Good luck!” as well.

It was darker in these hallways, and he hardly noticed the chipped paint that seemed to coat everything—the trimming, the door frames, the doors themselves. Even the locks were painted over. There were guys standing around, and there was a line outside the bathroom. Lance skidded to a halt outside the door, and nearly got cussed out by someone who was at the front of the line before he blatantly asked, “Is there a guy in there?”

“Uh, yeah, why?” the stranger asked, squinting his eyes at Lance. Lance retracted a little, and gave a shrug.

“I dunno. Just lookin’ for a friend,” he said distractedly, and wandered across the hall to lean against the wall. It wasn’t until he heard the bathroom door unlock that he realized he had absolutely no plan whatsoever. He didn’t really _plan_ chasing down Keith at all. He started to panic—what the hell was he doing anyway? He didn’t have any reason to—

The door opened, and it was just another stranger. The guy saw Lance standing there, staring at him with wide eyes. “Um, ya need something?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest.

“Uh… was there a guy in there before you? Average height, black hair?” Lance decided to ask, even though now his heart was pounding. That was such a close one.

“Yeah, he went that way,” the guy said, pointing down the hall towards all the other frat guys’ rooms. Lance stared down there and started moving before his brain could stop him. He called out his thanks before disappearing around the corner and hunting through the rooms with open doors before finding himself at an opposite staircase. The stairs circled around and deposited him onto another landing—this one opening up to more rooms and what looked like… a kitchen. 

He searched through there fast enough before heading to the basement where a few people were mingling on the stairs. There were lights flashing down there, and it wasn’t until he was staring at the back of a makeshift bar scene—otherwise known as a fold-out table full of booze being manned by two guys mixing drinks—that he saw something move fast out of the corner of his eye. It sounded like… ping pong.

There was a ping pong table off to the side, and several people were gathered around it, chanting on the players names. Lance wandered over, hands in his pockets as he observed the match, and the triangle of solo cups arranged at either end. Beer pong. He’d seen enough movies, and heard the legendary stories about Shiro, to know as much.

He was just in the midst of watching one guy get _destroyed_ when someone yelled out, “C’mon! Y’all aren’t nearly as good as Keith was. Someone get him back here—I want to challenge him!”

Lance perked up and asked without hesitation, “Keith was here? When? I’ve been trying to find him.”

The guys were setting up the cups again, and the girl who yelled that just smirked at Lance. “Why? You wanna challenge him to? That’d be a fun match, huh?” A few of her friends hollered in agreement, and Lance narrowed his eyes at her. “Tell ya what—I’ll tell you where he is if you beat me in a game. What’dya fuckin’ say, huh?”

Contrary to popular belief, Lance had never played beer pong. But if it meant finding Keith…

“Sure. Game on,” he said with a smirk, moving over to one side of the table as the girl took the other.

She laid down the rules. “No blowin’ the ball out of the cup. If ya catch it, the point’s your’s. Goal is to get three in the cups, got it?” He nodded, studying the solo cups hips and how she bounced on her feet, preparing to probably crush Lance. He wondered why all the cups were blurring together and though—

— _How much did I drink before coming here?_

It was probably a good thing past experience in baseball made him reflexively catch the first ball she threw into the cups. The crowd around them went _insane_. It was the first toss, and somehow Lance managed to catch it. The girl just looked pissed, and she glared him down from over the shallow net, gesturing for him to _come at her. Fight._

He made a gentle toss—semi-overhand, just mimicking what she’d done. It was a bit short, but his next one was closer, bouncing off the rim. They went back and forth like that, trying to swat the balls away from the cups, and _once_ Lance’s ball bounced in and bounced right out of the cup. Apparently that was a rule that meant he didn’t get the point. 

He caught another one, and threw it right back to get his third point.

“ _Holy shiiit!_ ” the guys were screaming, clamoring around and grabbing hold of Lance. They shook him and clapped him on the back, waving him back and forth in victory. All Lance was worried about was talking to the girl about Keith.

She came over to congratulate him. “Wow. You played this before?” she asked.

“Nah, first time,” he confessed. “So Keith? Where is he?” 

“I’m right here, you idiot.”

Lance spun around, hip bumping into the edge of the ping pong table. He was already sweating from the beer pong match, but this? This was infinitely worse. He would have yelped had common sense told him that would be even more embarrassing than this entire situation.

Keith was leaning against the archway, where Lance came through after descending the stairs. Lance’s eyes dipped down to the red and black flannel Keith wore, and the thin black shirt underneath. The definition of Keith’s throat was enough for the shadows to show the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, still studying Lance. His frown puckered the skin between his brows as he walked up, arms crossed as he said, “Someone said you were looking for me,” he commented, “and that you played one helluva game of beer pong to find me.”

“Uh… yeah, sort of,” Lance said, but the bass just happened to drop at that moment and everyone was screaming around the ping pong table. 

Keith scowled at him and leaned in: “ _What did you say?_ ” he shouted over the ruckus.

Lance tried to reiterate it, but the sound was just impossible. Keith rolled his eyes and nodded to the nook next to the stairs, and Lance followed. They walked through an open door, and it wasn’t until Keith turned on the light that Lance realized that… oh, right, people live in frat houses. The room was occupied, though, by a few people sitting on the futon and beanbag, and not to mention the bed pushed into the corner. For whatever reason, Keith just… didn’t seem like the type of guy to live in a frat house, or _be_ in a frat for that matter.

“You… live here?” Lance asked as the door shut. The volume seemed to suck in and condense, and even with the bass pumping through the walls, he could hear all their voices crystal clear. Their own little bubble.

The people on the futon were _clearly_ out of it, so he didn’t really worry about the company.

“Nah. Friend’s room,” Keith said, pushing himself up onto a stool and propping a leg up on one of the tongs. _I’d pay good money to draw that_ , Lance thought to himself, and mentally punched himself for it. _What the hell is wrong with me?_ “But you were looking for me?”

Lance cleared his throat awkwardly, and tried his best to relax by leaning against the opposite wall. “Yeah, uh… I recognized you. From that day we picked up the flyers and stuff,” he said.

“Yeah, never introduced myself. Keith,” he said, and stretched out a hand.

“Lance.” They clasped hands, and Lance felt like he just transcended into God-knows-where. In what world was he capable of being within the presence of such a god? 

“Cool name. I saw Pidge a bit ago. She was lookin’ for you too,” he said, and Lance’s heart dropped. He cursed under his breath, looking to the door. How could he have forgotten? This was Pidge’s first frat party, and he went and ditched her just like that—“But what’d you wanna talk about?” Keith asked. “I mean, you musta been looking for me for _some_ reason.”

“I...um…” What the fuck. He was drunk, why’d he have to act all flustered and skittish? In what world was Lance ever going to _actually_ get a chance to talk to Keith again? Keith was sitting right there, straight black hair tied back into a half-bun and all. He had little baby hairs framing his forehead, and curling around his ears. 

_Fuck it._

“I just… I saw you earlier this week and at first I shoulda asked you out or something, but it just didn’t happen. And now I just really want to paint a portrait of you, so I’m wondering if we could get together some time next week?” he asked, and for God’s sake, it was a miracle Lance was able to maintain eye contact the entire time, because if he hadn’t, he would have missed how pink Keith’s cheeks went. 

“Um… I don’t—” Keith started, mouth twisting closed the harder he thought. It was like he was trying to dissect everything Lance just said, and it was making his heart beat like crazy. Lance probably came off as insane. He totally did. He should’ve known—

“Dude, I’d pay good money to get a picture painted of me,” someone from the couch said, tipping a bottle towards them. “That’s a fuckin’ skill not everyone has. You good?” 

At first Lance didn’t know what the guy was asking, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh, I think? I mean, in high school I used to get a few Gold Keys a year at Scholastic,” he confessed, scratching the back of his head. “But I mean, I mostly draw. Painting’s more fun, though.”

“You got any pictures?” the stranger asked, and the girl next to him agreed, sitting up straighter as Lance wandered over, sifting through his phone to find a _good_ one. One that’d convince Keith that he would be the best fucking painter to ever paint his fucking face. 

After he showed them the photograph, one of the girls on the futon said, “You talented bastard. Keith, let ‘im paint you! C’mon, it’ll be fun.” She continued to pout at him, tipping her head onto the back of the futon and batting her pretty eyelashes at them. Keith scowled at her, and kept his eyes on her as he reached a hand out to Lance, snapping his fingers for the phone.

He pointedly glared at Lance before he looked down and studied the photograph on the screen. He scrutinized it until the crease between his brows smoothed over, and his long eyelashes curved up, his eyes meeting Lance’s. He looked at the painting once more before handing the phone back. “Fine. I’m mostly free Tuesday and Thursday mornings. You mind meeting at eight?”

Conscious Lance was too thrilled to respond, but somehow his mouth knew just what to say. He felt completely detached from the world. “Yeah! That’s perfect. I have access to the studios in Altea Hall, so we could meet there… Thursday morning? There aren’t any painting classes on Thursday, so we’d have the studio to ourselves.” 

“Cool,” Keith said, and the smallest of smiles tugged at the corner of his lips. They stared at each other, grinning like idiots, until they were startled by the people on the couch clapping and cheering for them. Keith flipped them off, and Lance laughed, stuffing his phone into his pocket. “You should probably find Pidge. She was worried you passed out in a ditch or something,” he warned Lance.

_Shit._

“Right! God, thanks for telling me. I’ll… see you on Thursday?” he reiterated, already moving towards the door. Keith nodded, eyes wide and a hint of amusement there on his lips again. Lance turned around, and nearly rammed straight into a guy entering the room. He apologized and scooted out of the way, and hurried up the steps that were straight ahead. 

Now, to find Pidge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently fanfiction commissions are a thing ?? Like ?? That's honestly such a concept, and to be able to give words to someone's vision when they can't/don't know how to write creatively is just... such a beautiful idea. 
> 
> So I want to know about **you writers and readers out there, and your thoughts on writing commissions** because I haven't heard much on the topic. [Here is the survey thang](https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/HCB5CD3), and just in general I'd like to hear what you guys think.
> 
> You can always fight me over on [Tumblr](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/geewiIIikers) as well :)


	3. Lost Sleep & Keith's Beautiful Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lance's brain is too weak for this shit. But I had to do it to 'em, and also I had to write all this to [Afterglow by Attom and Ciele](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vybenBmPDCQ&list=RDvybenBmPDCQ#t=0) because AAH.

Lance spent the rest of the night in a giddy daze.

After finding Pidge, the two of them spent another hour dancing before deciding that frat parties just weren’t their scene. The music was too loud, and Lance’s ears hurt as they exited the foyer and out into the bitter cold air. He passed Pidge her jacket, and she asked, “Hey, wanna get some of that pizza? I heard it’s excellent drunk-food.”

“Sure, sounds good to me,” he said. As they started walking through the cold, Pidge checked to make sure everything was still in her jacket pockets. Lance did the same, and in the midst of checking the time on his phone, she asked:

“So where _were_ you? You just… disappeared.”

Lance’s ears heated up. He scratched the back of his neck and said, “I, um… _might_ have hunted Keith down. He’s letting me paint him on Thursday.”

There was a moment of silence. It dragged on as they crossed the street in a rush to prevent the oncoming cars from running them over. Eventually, Pidge looked at him, eyes squinted, “You’re kidding, right? Why wasn’t I there?”

“I dunno! I ran all over the frat house looking for him!” he said, flinging his arms around. “And I don’t think he would have said yes had his friends not badgered him into it. I kinda feel bad—I don’t want it to be _weird_ or anything.”

“He didn’t flat out say ‘no,’ so I’d say that he wanted to do it. If he didn’t want to, he woulda said no, and that’s that,” Pidge reassured him, and Lance shrugged. “I doubt he was just doing it out of courtesy. He didn’t seem like that type of guy.”

“Yeah well, I’m starting to think he isn’t really _any_ type of guy. One of the girls I ran into said he was fucking awesome at beer pong, and another said he wasn’t hardcore enough to smoke, but he used someone’s vape stick… I don’t know what to think.”

“Shit, what a dilemma.”

“I’m _serious_ Pidge,” he whined, but still laughed over it. “He used a _vape stick_.”

“Whoop-di-do. So what? That’s pretty basic if you ask me,” Pidge scoffed with a roll of her eyes. 

They got to the pizza joint, with the wide floor-length windows showed the single line of barstools, and the counter beyond that. There were a few people waiting in line, and the smell of pizza was so fucking tantalizing at midnight. Lance’s mouth was watering by the time he got his slice of grease and claimed a barstool to start devouring it. Pidge spun up next to him, and together they sat there munching on awful pizza, and recovering from the exhaustion of dancing in a sweaty living room.

They sat there eating, and staring at their reflections in the window. Lance stared down at his free hand, and studied the faded ink the star stamp left behind. Pidge still had her’s on as well. 

After a while, Pidge said, “I’ve decided I don’t like grinding.”

“Yeah?” he hummed, mumbling around the cheese in his mouth.

“Yeah. I tried dancing with a guy and it was just… meh. Kinda made me feel all yuck, ya know?” she said. “That was when you were off on The Hunt for The Guy.”

“Damn, I missed it,” he laughed. “I mean, was it a problem? Did he force you to dance with him?”

“Nah, he just asked, and I was like, ‘Fuck it’ so we danced for one song and I left,” she confessed, frowning down at her pizza. “Is it weird? That I don’t like dancing with guys?” 

“Well, I mean, it’s not like we’re all trained to like dancing with the opposite gender,” Lance commented, lowering his pizza down so he could gesture with his hands. “Like, we get to high school, and it seems like a social checkmark to dance with the opposite gender at least _once_ in school. But it’s not a requirement. It’s just something you don’t check off on your list because you don’t want to. I never smoked or anything in high school, so that checkbox isn’t marked for me.”

“Yeah, but it seems so harmless. Like I shouldn’t be making a big deal out of it,” she told him, and he shrugged. She stared out the window then, and their reflections on the black pavement in the street. She dragged a hand through her hair and sighed, “What am I talking about. Of course you’d think it’s normal because you danced with girls all the time in high school. It doesn’t really matter to you because you have that checked off, so it’s not a requirement for you to continue dancing with them.”

“Yeah, but there’s a difference between liking it and _not_ liking it. I just happen to like dancing with girls,” he told her. He saw her through the reflection as she bit down on her bottom, purple-tinted lip, turning away a little. She braced her hands on the stool between her legs, and absently swung her feet back and forth. “I mean, we never really got into this conversation, but… have you ever even kissed someone before?”

She didn’t say anything at first, and then responded with, “I don’t want you to think my orientation isn’t valid because I haven’t… _experimented_ before. It’s sort of like asking a heterosexual person if they’re _‘Sure’_ because they haven’t tried doing it with the same gender before.”

Lance shook his head and said, “I wouldn’t—! Whatever, it doesn’t matter if you’ve kissed a guy before or not. It’s not relevant.”

“ _Thank_ you,” she huffed out, and went back to eating. As she nibbled on a stray pepperoni, she said, “It’s just something Matt’s always criticized of me. It’s annoying because he’s always been such a picky eater when he’s never even tried a food before, and then he goes and criticizes me for deciding I’m ace without ‘trying it out.’”

“That bastard.”

“My thoughts exactly! Like—he claims he hates burgers when he’s never eaten a burger in his life!” she practically screamed, slamming her hand on the counter. “It really _pisses me off!_ ”

“Yeah, get mad, girl,” Lance said, and hollered a little when Pidge went off on a tangent, slamming her older brother Matt for acting like the younger sibling, like _she’s_ being immature for hating romance and sex. Like ‘coodies’ are still a thing when they aren’t! They’ve just evolved into herpes and HIV and shit! Some drunk students next to them started pitching in, and they were all yelling and hollering about it until the manager came out from the back and asked them all to leave. It wasn’t really a bizarre occurrence, especially on the weekend with all the drunk kids walking around at midnight, so Lance was hardly embarrassed to get kicked out of a pizza joint for _speaking the truth_.

They went back to Kingsley, content with their stomachs full, and the buzz from the party now gone. Lance dropped Pidge off at her dorm and was about to head back to his room when she stopped him at her door. “Hey, you wanna have a slumber party or somethin’? We could finish off my bag of Sour Patch Kids or somethin’.”

“Sure—I just gotta wash my face and stuff. I feel like a grease ball now,” he confessed. Pidge rolled her eyes at him, and he knew in that moment that she wouldn’t be washing her face. “Pidge, this is why you say you have an acne problem. Wash your face before I get back.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she scoffed, waving him off as she disappeared into her closet. Lance glared at her on his way out, before he turned and hurried down to his and Shiro’s room.

Shiro was asleep, so Lance tried to be as quiet as possible while fetching his face wash and toothpaste and what-have-you. It wasn’t until Lance made his way to the bathroom and finally stood in front of the mirror that he realized he was smiling like an idiot. Even when he was exhausted like this, he could at least find _some_ way to show how incredible he felt. He felt… so incredibly lucky. What were the chances that some guy he randomly crossed paths with in the Quad would want to be his muse for a day? 

So of course Lance couldn’t stop thinking about it. And it wasn’t until halfway through the night, lazing on Pidge’s futon, that he realized why. This meant that he had to prove to Keith that he _was_ an excellent artist. He couldn’t ask Keith to sit there for two hours and come up with nothing more than a stick figure. _God_ , that would be embarrassing. He wasn’t sure if he could survive the humiliation of Keith looking at the final product and saying something like, “This is pure shit.”

 _Oh God_. 

So of course Lance didn’t sleep that night, thinking about it all in horror. He wasn’t ready to have a muse, whatever that was! How could he have asked Keith? It wasn’t like Lance was a _professional_ or anything—he was just one of the fine arts students struck by the dazzling looks of a random stranger. It happened to everyone at some point, right? 

Yeah, so it was normal. This was totally normal. Everything would be fine…

But that didn’t stop Lance from waking up every morning after Saturday night feeling like death. He could barely sleep thinking about it. All he managed to do was fall unconscious while thinking rational, conscious thoughts. He’d panic for six hours a night feeling like he wasn’t sleeping, but somehow… still passing the time fretting. Three nights of this led Lance to spending the next night up later, until four AM, practicing on some canvases he purchased earlier that day. 

Shiro blinked awake in the night and pressed his cheek to the side of his mattress, saying, “Lance, go to sleep.”

“I can’t. What’s the point of just lying there when I’m never gonna fall unconscious?” he demanded aggressively, pausing in his painting to scrub his brush around in a mason jar full of water.

“You’re getting snappy,” Shiro grumbled into the sheets. “You can’t stay up constantly like this.”

“I have to _practice_. What if I’m not good enough?” Lance whined, swiveling around in his chair to peg Shiro with a glare. There was just the lamp light on, facing over Lance’s shoulder, but it still reflected across the room where Shiro was lying, watching him paint. 

Lance was never sure how long Shiro would watch him until he’d turn around who-knows-how-long-later, and find Shiro’s head still dangling off the bunk, eyes closed and breathing softly again. It was Wednesday night, and the clock told him he had four hours until he’d meet up with Keith. _I can last that long_ , Lance told himself, and continued painting despite the burning sensation in his eyes.

He most definitely did not last that long.

About an hour later he leant his head on his desk and promised just a thirty-minute nap. He set his alarm to seven thirty, and he blacked out after that and wound up on the futon when his alarm finally went off. He didn’t recall even _moving_ since closing his eyes. Either way, he scrambled up and reached over the wooden beams of his loft to slap his alarm off on his phone. Sunlight peeked in through the gap in their curtains. Lance shut them further so Shiro wouldn’t have to get up this early.

He gathered his supplies up and dried off his brushes that he left sitting in the water glass. He stuffed the roll of them into his backpack, along with his box of acrylic pastes and some other supplies. He capped his mason jar, promising to clean it out fresh at the studio, and stuffed it into one of the side pockets on his backpack before getting changed. 

_Just… wear something that looks good_ , his brain told him, as if that was possible with how bloodshot his eyes were, and the mess his hair was in. He combed it out and went for a simple grey shirt and a half-sweatshirt half-jean jacket over the top. He checked himself out in the full-length mirror, combing his hands through his hair to help it stand up and look fluffier. But he couldn’t check himself out without leaving his reflection with two quick finger-guns. 

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” Shiro muttered as he rolled over on his bed. “Get some coffee before heading over.”

“Oh! Good idea. Thanks,” Lance said, slapping the hand Shiro left hanging off the side of his loft. Shiro groaned as Lance hurried out the door, stuffing his phone and keys into his pocket along the way. 

  


  


He stopped at the nearest open coffee shop on the way to grab himself a coffee, and on second thought, bought another for Keith. He shouldered his portfolio bag so when it came time to pick up the drinks, he had two free hands to carry them with. He was certain he would have felt like death had Keith not been at the finish line this time, so it was easy practically running to Altea Hall up until the point where he came in direct line of sight of Keith waiting outside the building, sitting atop one of the stone foundations of the ionic pillars holding up the overhang. 

The Guy looked like he _belonged_ there. Like he should be forever sculpted in a permanent, marble reflection of his real life self. And it wasn’t like he was wearing pure white Greek robes or anything like that—it just happened to be a simple white, striped t-shirt that exposed his collarbone, and was rolled up on the sleeves to make them peak at the hem. 

Lance slowed to a stroll, walking up and sliding one of the coffee cups onto the stone beside Keith. The Guy lowered his phone and looked at it, and then down at Lance. “It’s just a coffee from the café near Kingsley. You don’t need to pay me back or anything.”

“Um, thanks,” Keith said, and the cute hitch in his voice hinted at his confusion as he took a sip of the coffee before hopping off the stone ledge to follow Lance. 

Lance swiped his ID card over the sensor, and the lock on the door came undone. “A lot of the supplies in the studios are hella expensive, so they keep the building locked most days,” he explained as he and Keith walked in. “Have you been in here before?”

Lance’s voice echoed off the walls inside that vaulted over their heads, and exposed the multiple, cross-cross layers of floors over their heads. Keith didn’t respond—his eyes went up before he could, and he stood there in the atrium staring at the artwork banners strung over the sides of the stories, and the posters stapled to the walls, before his eyes ever reached Lance again. 

Keith blinked quickly and shook his head, “I’m sorry. What’d you say?”

“I just asked if you’ve been here before.”

“Oh, no. I haven’t. No reason to,” he confessed, a slight blush hinting his cheeks the longer Lance stared at him, waiting for the answer. They both blinked at one another before turning away.

Lance cleared his throat and started towards the stairs. He tipped his coffee cup back, downing a few more gulps before tossing it in the trash on the second floor. “We’re going to the third. That’s where all the drawing and painting rooms are.”

“What about the other floors?”

“Second floor has all these… woodworking studios, 3D printer, product classes—ya know, more physical arts,” he explained. His first week _seriously_ whipped him into shape. Going up three flights of stairs _with_ all of his art supplies did wonders for his calves. He liked to think that End-Of-Freshmen-Year Lance will be buff as fuck from all this walking and climbing.

Keith followed quietly behind as they wandered down the slope of one of the skywalks. The windows cast stripes of shadows along the way, cutting over the long line of potted plants to the left, and the open railing on the right, peering down at a study spot below them. “They actually combined two buildings. We’ll be in the older building—and it’s beautiful because it’s all old brick and stuff, with concrete windowsills and shit. It’s really cool, trust me.”

“Whatever you say…” Keith drawled, pausing at the railing to peer down. He hurried up to catch up with Lance as he turned the corner.

They ended up at a locked room that Lance’s card opened up. He pushed open the door and let Keith in before turning on the lights and shutting the door. It echoed around the empty classroom, and the crescent of easels centered around a still life at the front of the room. If they so much as _touched_ his professor’s still life, it would mean the end of his fine arts career. 

Keith went over to it to inspect it, and Lance panicked a little. “You can look at it, just don’t touch it. We’ve been drawing this shit for two weeks now,” Lance told him.

“No kidding,” he laughed. “Mind if I see what you’ve drawn of it?”

Lance was busy setting his portfolio bag on one of the window sills when Keith asked. All the heat in his body seemed to rise to his ears. “I dunno—I’m kinda shit at still lives. Portraiture is more of my thing,” he confessed. Keith’s eyebrows rose at that, so Lance gave in. “Fine. Hang on.”

He pulled out his massive sketchbook and laid it out on one of the raised desks. He flipped through them towards the back, and let the other pages hang off the side of the desk. Keith maneuvered over to investigate, and his eyes went wide. Still, somehow Lance could barely tell what that meant. Perhaps it was because they didn’t know each other well enough for Lance to gauge when Keith was _honestly_ impressed.

“I mean, this is just the one I’ve been working on lately. There’s about a dozen more in here, but… uh… I usually sit over there, by that door that connects to the other studio,” he explained, gesturing across the classroom. 

Lance flipped his sketchbook closed and started to pull out his painting supplies. “So where do you want me to sit?” Keith asked.

“Well… I want to use natural light. Would you wanna sit on one of the window sills?” he asked. At the time they came in, all the tall, arched windows had their blinds closed. Keith picked on and scooted up onto the sill while Lance reached behind him and tugged the blinds open. 

He went to the back of the room where the easels were stashed, and propped one open not far from Keith. He stole a stool from one of the desks, and used the surface of one of the desks to hold his backpack and other supplies. He shook his mason jar of water to kick up all the pigments that settled on the bottom, and went to the sink to clean it out. Surprisingly, he felt much calmer than he had over all these previous nights.

“So… do you do this often?” Keith asked. “Asking strangers to pose for you.”

“No. First time I asked a stranger to let me paint them, actually,” he confessed with a laugh, glancing over his shoulder at where Keith was sitting, knees pulled up to his chest. “Sorry if that sounds weird. I just figured I’d ask since I probably won’t see you around too much after this.”

“Ya never know,” he replied, rolling his shoulders back as Lance walked up again with fresh water in his jar, and paint palette. “I mean, you practically asked me out, and I feel like one date doesn’t suffice.”

Lance surprised himself by laughing. “That’s just assuming this goes well. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Keith’s eyes were on him—Lance could tell—as he sipped from his coffee mug while Lance set up. He pulled out his laptop and asked for song suggestions, which led to a casual conversation about music before settling on a playlist Keith forcefully put on himself. And then, he sat back with a smug look on his face. 

Keith drank his coffee until Lance set to work sketching out the structure of his face as Lance had a dozen times before. This was entirely different, though. It was accurate—it wasn’t just from memory, and Keith was _sitting right there_ , staring at him while he worked. It took a good few minutes for Lance to get the basic shapes down, and start to outline the form of Keith’s eyes and nose before either of them spoke again.

“No offense, but you honestly look exhausted,” Keith said, and smiled a little when Lance let out a nervous laugh. “I’m serious. If you’re not a morning person, we shoulda done this at a later time.”

“No, it’s fine. I haven’t been able to sleep all week,” he confessed as he unscrewed one of his acrylic paints, and pushed a dab of the paste into his paint palette. “It has nothing to do with me being a morning person or not.”

“Why haven’t you been sleeping?” Keith asked, and it was just intended to be a casual conversation starter, but Lance clammed right up. “What? Why do you look like you just ate a sour lemon.”

“I—I do not!” Lance cried out, and Keith laughed. “Fine—I’ve been stressing about this. I’m just nervous it’s not gonna turn out, but I’m that way with every project ever so it’s not… really anything new.”

“Ah. The stereotypical, I Like To Suffer Because I’m An Artist,” he said, and Lance frowned bitterly at him. Keith cleared his throat, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “Sorry. But you’re being fucking ridiculous right now. I can’t believe you lost sleep over this.”

“You want to know what’s ridiculous?” Lance countered, and Keith was smiling like a fucking dork when Lance got all aggressive like that. He went for his backpack. “I’ll show you fucking ridiculous. This is gonna come across as stalkerish or whatever but I don’t care because it’s driving me insane. I’ve literally been drawing mindlessly for over a week now, and it all shows up as your face.”

He held out that first sketch—the one that was now wrinkled and probably smudged, and let Keith take it, along with another, and another, and the colored one he spent _hours_ on that same day he first saw Keith at all. Keith’s eyes were as wide as could be—it was nothing compared to his supposedly impressed expression. It was just straight up… _shock_.

“I figured… that if I actually painted _you_ and not just what I remembered, I might finally stop drawing you every fucking day. I have a stack of doodles on my desk in my dorm, and I’m not even kidding,” he said, shaking his head and holding a hand up to his hair. “I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

It took a moment for Keith to even look up at him, much less say anything. He sifted through the papers, the sketches, before lowering them down to his lap and saying, “Yeah, this is kinda insane. No offense.”

“None taken,” Lance huffed as he sat in his stool again, pressing his palms to the seat between his legs. “This is probably a first for you, too. Can’t say I’ve ever drawn _anyone’s_ face more than five times outside of class projects.”

“What… made you want to draw me?” he asked, pushing aside the sketches and leaning over his knees, hand clasped to his wrist as he studied the way Lance’s shoulders hunched up, guilty.

“I don’t… I don’t know. I guess… I just find you to be incredibly drawable? Like, you’ve got the perfect face for it and everything. And your expressions are so subtle and it’s the perfect challenge, ya know? Trying to convey that in a drawing and stuff. It’s interesting. Some people just have really… prominent features and it’s fun to draw them. All this shit here is just mindless stuff, honestly.”

He reached over and scooped up all the papers and tossed them onto the desk behind him. When he turned back around, he found Keith staring back. “You think I’m fun to draw?” he repeated, and Lance’s entire face turned red.

“Well, yeah! Otherwise I wouldn’t have asked to paint you in person!” he blurted out with a nervous laugh. “But if you think that’s weird, we don’t have to do this. It’ll take a few hours.”

Keith hesitated for a moment, his breath caught in his throat before he swallowed it down and let out a sigh. He shuffled to the edge of the windowsill, and Lance thought, _Shit, I screwed up. I shouldn’t’ve shown him the sketches_ —

But then Keith leaned over to Lance’s open laptop and sifted through the playlist. “Gotta make sure it’s longer than two hours then, huh?” Keith said, grinning at Lance as he settled back into his seat at the window sill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently fanfiction commissions are a thing ?? Like ?? That's honestly such a concept, and to be able to give words to someone's vision when they can't/don't know how to write creatively is just... such a beautiful idea. 
> 
> So I want to know about **you writers and readers out there, and your thoughts on writing commissions** because I haven't heard much on the topic. [Here is the survey thang](https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/HCB5CD3), and just in general I'd like to hear what you guys think.
> 
> You can always fight me over on [Tumblr](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/geewiIIikers) as well :)


	4. A Professional Modeling Career On The Rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith will be the death of Lance... eventually.

Given the fact that they had hours to kill by painting and talking, they each took turns rambling. They started with Keith, since later on he’d have to stay still while Lance painted him. The kid was just as quiet about his life as he was in general, but there were a few tidbits Lance weaseled out of him now that a portion of his confidence was back.

“Wait, so where do you live? You never told me last week when we met,” Lance asked, creating large brush strokes outside of the lines to fill in the background. He wrapped the colors around the edge of the canvas.

“I did’t tell you because if you know, it’d be pretty easy to find me. I tend to think people are axe murderers at first glance,” Keith confessed, and Lance snorted, only to realize that Keith was being entirely serious.

“No shit? Pidge hardly seems like an axe murderer.” _Though, she does have a serial killer smile sometimes_ …

“Yeah, well. I like to think that if you keep your hopes low enough, you might be able to surprise yourself more frequently. That’s basically the motto to live by in my major,” he confessed, and after a quizzical look from Lance, he continued, “Environmental science. S’why I live at the Student Co-Op with all the other environmental students.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” Lance mused aloud. The Co-Op was the Arnette University’s way of giving power to a bunch of plant nerds. It was sort of like a frat, but sort of not considering it was co-ed. It _was_ on Frat Row, though. Lance saw it several times, and was shocked by the number of… _signs_ out in their lawn. It was honestly the only lawn on Frat Row that even had trees for that matter, and a makeshift garden. “What’s with all those signs out front?”

Keith paused for a moment, and then said, “ _Oh_ , right, you’re a freshmen. You probably don’t know much about the frat guys on campus. There’s almost an eighty percent higher chance of girls being raped by frat guys on campus, and there were several cases last year that were brushed under the rug. So we put all the signs up, and they can’t tell us to take ‘em down because it doesn’t violate any rules.”

“So, like, an anti-rape campaign.”

“ _Exactly_. It’s funny because the University’s board members were initially like, ‘We’ll do anything to make you take those signs down!’ and when we found out that it wasn’t violating any rules, we just gave ‘em the middle finger and that was that. Some frat guys have frisbeed them across the road, but other than that… I mean, we started chaining them to the trees and stuff.”

“Honestly the first time I saw the signs I thought they were, like, _Beware Of Dog_ type stuff.” Keith laughed and shook his head, glancing out the window before turning back to where Lance was smiling softly, blending red into the background, and creating a soft glow where the window met the bricks. “Where do you normally live? Other than Arnette?”

“Illinois. Chicago suburbs,” he replied, clearing his throat. “But I live here now, so… probably not going back to Chicago any time soon.”

“Well, I’d take Oregon over Illinois any day, so that’s not so bad,” Lance murmured, swapping brushes to paint in the foundation of Keith’s skin color. Pale, almost pore-less like a mannequin, especially with the soft, indirect light of the sun. They were on the west side of the building, so it was all soft, glowing shadows in the morning.

“How long have you been drawing and painting?” Keith asked as Lance started to get into the details of Keith’s face. He started with broad, wide strokes, and blended them in with patchworks of accented reds and pinks, and faint blues linking to the glow on the window—influence of the sky.

“I don’t even know. My Ma would tell you ‘since the day I was born,’” he laughed. “Hold still—I’m gonna start painting your eyes.”

It both helped and hindered Lance, to look up and find Keith’s eyes already on him. He guessed he hadn’t really been focusing on Keith’s eyes until now. They were a blend of grey, likely to shift depending on the environment. Lance knew plenty of people who had grey eyes where in the forest, they were green, and under the sky, they were blue. His irises were huge, his pupils small, and eyelashes curved in their length. 

After a moment of getting his shit together, Lance turned back to the canvas and shaded underneath Keith’s eyes, highlighting his waterline, curving around the inside corner where his tear ducts were.

“But I don’t think I was ever really into drawing when I was little,” Lance confessed after a moment of listening to the music play in the background. “I sorta… stumbled across that hobby later in life. My elementary school teachers told me I wasn’t ‘creative enough,’ whatever that means.”

“Well that’s kind of ridiculous. If only they could see you now, huh?” Keith commented, mouth barely moving. 

Lance scoffed a little. “Yeah, if only they could see me now.” They lapsed into silence again before Keith fidgeted a little, another one of his subtle expressions occurring. The look of contemplation, tensing his brow ever so slightly. “What are you thinking?” Lance asked.

“Just wondering. You said I’m easy to draw, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I wonder if you could get paid being a model or something, or drawing classes, I mean,” he confessed. “Extra cash would be nice.”

Lance looked at him for a moment, and then back to the canvas so he wouldn’t turn red when he said, “Yeah, but most drawing models are nude models for figure drawing classes. There’s classes in the city and stuff, for nude models to practice and artists to come and draw them.”

“Really?” Keith asked. “That’s kinda weird.”

“I dunno. It’s not _sexual_ or anything. It’s just easier to learn anatomy if ya don’t have any clothes on. I took a summer class at the university near my parent’s house that was on figure drawing. My mom nearly had a heart attack when I had her sign the paper saying that she was fine with me being in a figure drawing class that used nude models,” he explained with a laugh. “Most of the time, they end up being old guys with beer guts.”

“Gross,” he giggled, going a little pink at the cheeks. “You think it’s hard?”

“Oh yeah. Ya gotta stand still for a long time, or maybe do multiple class periods where you stay in the same position for hours on end. I mean, ya get breaks and stuff, but it’s tough I’d say,” Lance explained. “When we start figure drawing, everyone has to stand at the front of the room and pose for five minutes— _clothed_ , of course—just so everyone can practice, and know what it’s like.”

“You think I could be a nude model?” he asked, and he said it so calmly that Lance thought he was kidding. Either way, all the heat in Lance’s body swept up to his face, and he flushed hard, hiding behind his canvas so Keith couldn’t see him.

“I-I don’t—Hell if I know! Why would you want to anyway?” Lance squeaked out, a stuttering mess as he frantically cleaned out his brush in his mason jar full of water. He busied himself with drying it off on a towel.

“Well—I mean, _you_ said it wasn’t sexual or anything. And it’s not like I’m self-conscious about my body!” Keith blurted out, laughing when Lance peered around the canvas to glare at him. “And how much money would you get from each session? Somethin’ like thirty bucks?”

Lance stared at him, eyes wide and gawking. “Are you kidding? Everyone in the class probably pays fifteen bucks upfront, and that all goes towards the modeling fee.”

“Wait, seriously? Holy shit, where do I sign up,” Keith murmured, settling back against the wall again with his eyes wide, the wheels spinning in his head. 

As Lance went back to painting, he felt numb inside as the shock was still settling in. He pushed it out of his head for the remainder of the time they spent together in that studio, until he put the finishing touches on the strands of Keith’s black hair as it curved around his ears. He went in with a fine-tipped brush and painted in the pinstripes on Keith’s shirt. He signed the corner, and let out a deep breath. He supposed this was as good as he could do now, given their time frame. Nearly… four hours later.

“Okay, it’s done,” Lance said, and pushed back in his stool to go clean up his supplies. When he came back, he found Keith sitting in his stool, staring at the painting. Upon hearing Lance’s footsteps approach, Keith looked back at him with those same wide, grey eyes. “What?” he asked, but Keith didn’t say anything.

“I mean, a lot of people don’t like drawings of themselves done by other people. One of my old art teachers told me that, because everyone views themselves differently, and it always varies from the artist’s perspective,” he explained, but Keith just shook his head.

“This is _better_ than my perspective, honestly,” he confessed, pressing his hands to his reddened cheeks before clearing his throat and reaching into his back pocket. “Could I take a picture of it?”

“Wait, seriously?” Lance blurted out, and felt the tension condense in his chest, and suddenly snap free. “You like it?” 

“Are you kidding me? This is incredible—I honestly wasn’t sure _what_ I was expecting,” Keith said, and held up his phone. “So can I? Take a picture?”

Lance let him, still stunned as he leant up against the wall, watching Keith photograph the portrait, and get in close to capture the detail of the colored strokes in the shadows. The purples, the blues, the pink in the hue of his skin. “What are you gonna do with it?” Keith asked.

“I don’t know, honestly,” he confessed. “I probably won’t sell it or anything. Do you want it?”

“That’d be kind of vain of me to take it,” he admitted with a laugh. “You should keep it.”

For whatever reason, that just seemed like the most romantic thing Lance had ever heard in his entire life. He wondered if this was the equivalent of a Jane Austen, offering-a-lock-of-hair type of a deal. And for what it was worth, what purpose would Lance have with a fucking seventeen-inch portrait canvas in a _dorm room?_

He hadn’t thought this through.

“I… don’t really have the room for it, honestly,” Lance confessed, scratching the back of his head with his paint-speckled fingers. 

Keith just stared at him before blurting out, “Seriously? What did you plan to do with this afterwards anyway?”

“I didn’t have a plan! I just wanted to paint you!” he exclaimed with a laugh. He lifted the canvas up by the back of it, and held it towards Keith. “I think you should take it. You could, like, put it on a wall and start a portrait wall of all the members in the Co-Op or something ridiculous like that.”

“That’s so fucking corny,” he muttered, but still smiled as he accepted the painting, “but I’ll take it.”

Keith wandered around the studio while he waited for Lance to clean up and pack everything away. The painting sat, drying on one of the desks, and Lance snuck his own picture of it for later. He shouldered his backpack and portfolio bag after setting the easel aside, and called out to Keith, “You ready to leave?”

“Oh, yeah sure.” He came back to fetch the painting and held it gingerly by one of the wooden bars in the back. Lance led the way out of the room, shutting the lights off, and closing the door behind them. It locked shut, and they wandered back across the skywalk, and down the three flights of stairs in relative silence. Keith would hold the painting high over his head as they went down the stairs, just so he wouldn’t end up accidentally kicking it, or swinging it into the railings. 

As they were reaching the ground floor, Keith asked, “So, what do you say to a second date?” 

“D-Date?” Lance stammered out, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline as he turned to face Keith. Keith stuttered to a halt on the tile flooring, his white converse taking a step back. “This was a date?” 

“W-Well, I just… we had a _conversation_ about a second date earlier!” Keith all but squeaked out. “And I’m usually really bad with hints, but I figured… the fact that you _bought me a coffee_ kind of made me think that this was a date.” Lance was surprised by how embarrassed _Keith_ looked, the splotches of red on his face spreading to his ears and the soft curve of his neck, where his longer strands of hair settled. 

Lance cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his hand over his forehead. “I’m not saying this _wasn’t_ a date. I just—I figured I’d let _you_ decide. Since… I don’t want to push any of your boundaries.”

The redness faded a little from Keith’s face, and then he was pointing a finger above Lance’s eyes. “You’ve got paint on your forehead now.”

As Lance quickly scrubbed at it, though that just seemed to make it worse because there was still a bit of paint on his hands, Keith cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Okay. I guess it’s relevant to say up front that I’m ace, and if we do go on a second date, I just don’t really like all the corny bullshit. Like holding hands or kissing or anything else that’s cliché.”

“That’s fine,” Lance said, and they shared a smile that was vindictive of their nervous, awkward habits, and the fact that neither of them were sure what, exactly, was happening. Lance cleared his throat and rubbed his thumb against his forehead again, feeling the paint drying there. “Um… so nothing cliché or romantic. I don’t exactly have any ideas… but I’m cool with anything.”

“Okay. Just give me your number and I’ll let you know when I’m free,” he suggested, holding out his phone and opening up his contacts. Lance typed in his name, and added the little fire emoji after it, before ending with his actual number. “Thanks. I’ll… see you around then?” 

After Keith parted ways from Lance, he continued to stand there on the steps watching the most beautiful Guy he knew walk away with one of his paintings. He wasn’t even worried about the painting getting smudged, like he usually was, he just kept thinking… there was something pricking at the back of his mind demanding attention…

Oh, right.

_How could I have suggested Keith become a nude model?_

Lance paled and willed death to come sooner rather than later, just so he wouldn’t have to experience the repercussions of this _madness_.

  


Lance was certain he would have been fine. He wouldn’t have continued to draw Keith, or paint him, color him, or _whatever_. That session with Keith did wonders on the itch he had to draw that boy’s beautiful face, and that _smile_ , now that he knew it so well. 

But that all changed because he couldn’t stop thinking about how his two and three dimensions drawing class meant he already paid the modeling fee, for after their still life section of the class. This last drawing would be their final part in still life, which would mean… stress dreams about Keith showing up in nothing but a robe and—

Holy shit. Lance couldn’t think straight for the life of him. 

He couldn’t believe the vividness of his stress dreams. If he thought the ones _before_ his session with Keith were awful, these were just horrific. He’d wake up in the morning in a panic, and slap his hands to his face so Shiro wouldn’t see how red he was just from thinking back on it. How would he ever stand _not_ knowing whether or not Keith decided to take nude modeling classes? And on top of it, how could he stand not knowing whether or not he’d get to class one day and find Keith there? He started to come up with terrible excuses to tell his professor, saying that he couldn’t possibly stay for the class session because he had uncontrollable diarrhea and it was a mistake even leaving the dorm. 

They all ended in embarrassment, even if he _did_ stay and suck it up. 

His conclusion was to stop dreaming altogether, which meant an all-nighter that knocked him out in the middle of lecture on the following Monday. He was startled awake by the familiar guy that usually sat next to him, but was now getting up to leave. 

“Hey, you all right man? You’re lookin’ kinda rough today,” Hunk commented, and noted Lance’s empty notebook. “No sketches today, huh?”

Lance rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sniffled a little. Why did it feel like someone stuffed his head with a brick and left it there to weigh him down? “Nah, no more sketches. I actually… met up with Keith last week. I painted a portrait of him,” he confessed, voice stuffy as he pulled out his phone to show Hunk.

Hunk was an all-around okay guy in Lance’s opinion, at least from what he knew of the guy. He seemed to take a liking to Lance because new sketches were always fun, and sometimes drawings and other visuals were just… more interesting than the actual notes on the front projector in the lecture hall. So it just seemed like a daily ritual at this rate to just show Hunk the sketches or else be prodded about them later as they left the class.

He let Hunk hold onto his phone while he packed up his notebook and pencils. Hunk flicked through the pictures, finding the closer-up shots, and the detailed color here and there. “Shit, you made this? How long’d it take?”

“I dunno. Like, almost four hours I think,” he confessed with a shrug. Hunk hummed in appreciation, handing the painting back.

“So did he like it?” he asked, and Lance nodded. “You don’t look happy about it.”

“I am! We just… talked about something and I can’t stop thinking about it. That tends to happen a lot,” Lance admitted, and saying it out loud made it infinitely more true. Why did his brain have to function like this? It was seriously starting to ruin his otherwise flawless complexion. The red puffiness under his eyes was starting to make it look like he was constantly crying, but that just wasn’t the case. He was constantly internally crying over the idea of Keith modeling in front of his _entire fucking drawing class_.

When Hunk inquired about the topic, Lance knew he should just keep his mouth shut. Hunk _knew_ Keith—they were _lab partners_. And he shouldn’t just trust _strangers_ with this kind of information. It was horrific, thinking about the consequences of letting something like that get out and spread like wildfire among _everyone Keith associated with_. 

At last, his tortured brain had enough. “Sorry, can’t say. But if you end up asking him at lab, let me know if he answers okay? It’s been eating me up inside.”

“Yeah, sure. What’s your Snapchat?” They exchanged codes, and the weight on Lance’s head started to ease a little. Still, the faint pulsing of his headache made his brain feel like it was being strung in all different directions, twisting tight and stretched from one side of his skull to the other. 

So yeah, he was doing _just great_.

Hunk waved farewell to Lance before heading off across the Quad. Lance stared after him, and tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He felt his phone there, and knew it’d be better to hear from Hunk rather than Keith directly. He wouldn’t even know how to breach the topic without outright asking, “Hey, so are you gonna pose nude for strangers or what?” 

“Shit,” Lance muttered under his breath, turning and heading back towards Kingsley. It was too early in the morning for this shit.

The moment he stepped through the door of his dorm, he tossed his backpack into his closet and resisted collapsing right then and there. Instead, he meandered to his desk with a moan and climbed on top of it. From there, he crawled up the side of his loft and shuffled into his bed. He wormed his way under the blankets and stayed there for ages. 

When Shiro finally walked in, he looked for Lance at his desk, the futon, and at last turned his eyes up to find the mound of blankets overhead to show Lance’s face among them. “What are you doing up there?” Shiro asked. 

Lance’s eyes squinted open, and he said, voice muffled, “I feel like shit. I’m trying to sleep.”

“Ya want a melatonin or something? I’ve got a jar of gummy ones, they’re pretty good,” Shiro said, and even though Lance’s limbs felt awfully heavy, he reached one out anyway. Shiro shook up the jar and popped open the cap. He dispersed one into Lance’s hand, and he chewed on it meticulously until his mouth started watering too much. He sucked it all in and swallowed the melatonin. “Are you getting sick? I heard some of the kids near Mayhew have been coming down with the stomach flu.”

“Nah, no stomach flu,” Lance murmured. “Just constant worrying and stress. I feel like I can’t control my own brain. I hate it, Shiro. Tell me what to do.”

“Well, for one, you need sleep. I woke up at three and you were still at your computer. When did you go to sleep?”

“I didn’t.”

“That’s the problem then. Here, drink some water. Where’s your water bottle?” Shiro demanded, and Lance pointed to his closet where his backpack was. When Shiro came back, he held up Lance’s water bottle and didn’t let Lance hand it back until over half of it was gone. “And you said your mom’s visiting this weekend?”

“Yeah…”

“Ask her for sleep remedies. She sounds like the type of lady to prescribe tea rather than chemical stuff. I don’t want to get in trouble with her,” he told Lance, and Lance merely scoffed, pushing his cheek into the mattress and watching Shiro head back to his closet to put the melatonin away, and return to sift through his backpack for homework. 

“Thanks Shiro. And you could never get on my Ma’s bad side. You impressed her with your unlimited amount of fatherly swag.”

“I hate it when you guys say that…” he all but hissed out as he slapped a notebook onto his desk and turned to glare at Lance. They were both smiling. 

Shiro turned on soft, instrumental music for Lance to fall asleep to, and for him to study to. They coexisted in relative silence otherwise, with Lance’s steady, soft breathing and the scratch of Shiro’s pen on paper, mapping out calculations and what-have-you. 

Lance had a strange and bizarre dream that reminded him of the Disney movies he used to watch with his siblings. He suspected it had something to do with the fact that Shiro mentioned his Ma, because she was the one to make them watch _The Little Mermaid_ one too many times. It was a favorite of his little sister’s, and one year Lance was forced to dress up as Prince Erik, which wasn’t all that bad. He didn’t mind wearing a big poofy pirate blouse one bit. 

It was infuriating to dream about _The Little Mermaid_ in the context of everything that was going on in his head. It wasn’t _just_ the idea of Keith taking nude modeling classes, but also the idea of having Keith _text him_ saying, “Get up, loser, we’re going on a date.” So far they hadn’t spoken _once_ since the studio session, which meant Date #2 would end up being spontaneous, right? 

He woke up for dinner, and Shiro was still hard at work, so he went to meet up with Pidge in the dining hall in a groggy haze. The images were still fresh in his mind as he sat down with nothing put a plate of spinach and vegetables, and the ever-necessary applesauce on the side. Pidge was there sipping a mug of coffee, watching him like she knew everything he was about to spill on the table.

“How is it possible that you look worse every time I see you?” she asked.

“It’s because I had a dream that I was in a shipwreck and Keith was a mermaid and when we got to shore he was butt naked and said something like, ‘This isn’t sexual, right?’”

Pidge’s mug froze a few inches from her mouth, and had she had coffee in her mouth, he was certain she would have spat it all over his tired, exhausted, pained, stressed, lovestruck face. Instead, she snorted and slammed the mug down, exclaiming, “Wait, _what?_ I completely missed that last part. Can you repeat it?”

Lance felt his face aching as he pushed his hands over his cheeks and groaned. “Don’t make me say it again, please. I can’t go on thinking these thoughts. What have I _done?_ ”

“You’re gonna have to catch me up because I swear you haven’t said a single word since Thursday,” she said, shoveling in a mouthful of pasta doused in spaghetti sauce. Lance watched her, forlorn and everything. “I mean, the date went okay, right? You said it went fine. He liked the painting, so what?”

“So _what?_ I have no clue if he’s gonna want a second date! Maybe he just said that because he was being _nice_ or something,” he squeaked out, and Pidge’s bland look said enough. “Yeah, you’re right. He’s not the type of guy to just say something because it was courteous to do so. And maybe that’s the problem! It’s like he doesn’t realize that—that—” The rest of it fizzled away, even when Pidge looked at him expectantly, waiting for the end of the sentence. “Never mind. He’s oblivious, and that’s all ya gotta know.”

Pidge scowled at it, but something must have prevented her from pushing the subject because she just went back to eating. Lance studied his phone for a moment where it sat on the dining hall table, looming like some dark abysm that fed off of his weak mind. That empty screen would be the death of him, so he flipped it over and went back to eating.

Keith would text back eventually, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently fanfiction commissions are a thing ?? Like ?? That's honestly such a concept, and to be able to give words to someone's vision when they can't/don't know how to write creatively is just... such a beautiful idea. 
> 
> So I want to know about **you writers and readers out there, and your thoughts on writing commissions** because I haven't heard much on the topic. [Here is the survey thang](https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/HCB5CD3), and just in general I'd like to hear what you guys think.
> 
> You can always fight me over on [Tumblr](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/geewiIIikers) as well :)


	5. Possible Date Three

**Unknown Number:** _Come to the co op when you can._

**Lance:** _I’m assuming this is Keith. It’s 11pm._

**Keith:** _Get over here ASAP or reap the consequences._

**Lance:** _Shit, ok omw._

  


Lance had never… _been_ to the Co-Op. And with all the signs on their trees and the weird log fencing… it was kind of creepy just in general. None of the frats had fences to begin with, so it stuck out on that semi-modern street, with their dark brick and pillars in the front. There was a balcony up above, but it was too narrow for people to walk out on. There were bikes kept up there, though, which was… weird. Especially in the dark. He felt like he was about to get murdered.

He climbed the steps of the Co-Op and wandered to the front door. It was surrounded by cute flower pots and such, and what looked like clay pottery that was hand made. He double-checked his phone before decided that not knocking was fine. _Just walk right in, he says, it’s not like this is your house or anything!_

Lance propped open the screen door and pushed inside, and he wasn’t sure _what_ he was expecting. It just… looked kind of like a normal house. The foyer connected to a large living room, and a smaller sitting room to the left. It was all definitely not-modern, with a heavy brick fireplace and the old-fashioned floral couches. And it kind of smelled like sawdust in here.

“Who is it?” someone called out from another room. Lance brushed his feet off on the carpet and started to walk towards the sound.

“Uh, Lance?” he answered, cringing a little before being startled by someone popping out from around the archway leading into the kitchen. It was all white and yellow in there, and the woman’s sweater just seemed to match it all. Yellow, with a pink flower pattern across it.

“Hey Lance.” Keith’s voice sounded from the kitchen, but Lance couldn’t see him _anywhere_.

The woman nudged him into the kitchen and towards the center island counter. Across it, he could see Keith’s legs stretched out on the tile, and the top of his head of black hair. “We were just making banana bread,” the woman said, and held a hand out to Lance. “Shay.”

“Lance, again,” he laughed, shaking her hand. “You… live here?”

“Yeah. Keith and I are in the same major and stuff,” she explained, waving her hand. She was plump, and it showed in her round wrists and the softness of her facial features. She had heavy brown hair that was pulled back into a french braid, and as she turned to the oven, it swished over her shoulder where she pulled out a few long pans. 

The smell of it was heavenly. It masked the sawdust scent and created a warm, homely atmosphere in an instant. He felt like he was in his Grandma’s house, with all the old-fashioned appliances, the absurd amount of tea kettles, and the fact that the floor was _tiled_ yellow and white. 

He wandered over to where Keith was sitting, picking apart sweat peas and tossing the shells into a bowl. “What’s up?” he asked, and Keith patted the ground next to him.

“Sit down and grab some peas,” he ordered. Lance scoffed a little, getting onto the floor and leaning back against the counter. He shrugged off his jacket as they heard Shay nudge the pans onto the marble over their heads. “We’re gonna eat banana bread,” Keith told him.

“It’s… eleven thirty on a Wednesday night,” Lance told him, and Keith gave him a subtle glare before scraping a few peas into his mouth and tossing the shell. “Also, what kind of animal are you? You’re supposed to eat the shell, too.”

Lance grabbed the bowl of shells and started to pick through them and eat them himself. Shay told them that she was going to head up to her room while the bread cooled off, so Keith waved farewell to her before letting his arm flop down onto his lap. “So Hunk said he knows you and that you were worried about me actually signing up to take modeling classes.”

Lance choked on the pea pod and coughed into his sleeve until he was actually able to breathe properly. He cleared his throat and Keith suggested he grab a glass of water. “Cups are in the cabinet over the sink,” he said as Lance pushed himself to his feet. The bowl of pea pods clinked onto the tile floor, and when he finally had some water to drink, Keith continued.

“It costs a lot to take the class on it,” Keith confessed, picking at the seal of the pea pod to break it open. “But I’m thinking I’m gonna do it, ya know? It’d be worth it once all that’s over with and I’ve got a modeling reputation down. ‘Cause the classes hook you up with photographers and shit, and art teachers and professors get a list of our names and stuff to contact for figure drawing classes.”

“And… you researched all this?” Lance said, voice hoarse at the thought. 

“Yeah, I already signed up for it,” Keith snorted, smirking as he flicked a pea into his mouth and munched on it. “But I’m kinda nervous. Would you want to come to the first meet up with me? You wouldn’t come into the room or anything—just hang out outside, work on homework or somethin’.”

“Um…” _It’s not like this is my worst fear or anything! It’s not like my heart is about to combust or anything like that!_

“What, are you _jealous_ or something?” Keith said, and his voice turned far more serious this time around. It caused Lance to panic because he hadn’t even considered _that_. He never even pegged himself as a jealous person. Was that the reason why his brain was on maximum overdrive? 

Lance decided, “No, of course not. It’s your decision.” 

The tension from Keith’s voice vanished instantly, and translated into his now relaxed shoulders. “Thank God. I was worried. So you wanna come with or what? It’s on Saturday.”

“Um, sure. I wouldn’t mind,” Lance said. If he wasn’t jealous, then what was he? So what if other people saw Keith naked. _Pff_ , what a ridiculous concept. So what if people had permanent images of Keith in the nude on their fancy DSLR cameras? Of… course Lance didn’t care about that…

“You’re not okay with it,” Keith commented, and before Lance could argue against that, he continued, “It’s fine! It’s fine. You’re just a bit more traditional than I thought you were.”

Lance scoffed and blurted out, “ _Traditional?_ I am _not_ traditional—my _Grandma_ would be considered tradition, definitely _not_ me.”

“Cool. So third date then?” Keith suggested, and Lance was so startled that he fell quiet all over again. Weren’t they… supposed to argue more on that topic? Lance had to admit, it _was_ a bit stuffy of him to tell Keith not to just go ahead and take modeling classes… But then again, maybe Keith somehow knew Lance’s brain was arguing against him now. Keith didn’t even have to do any of the work. 

“Wait— _third_ date?” Lance repeated. “Is… this a date?”

“Hell yeah. Want some banana bread?” Keith pushed himself up and went to where Shay left the bread to cool off. Lance turned his head so his eyes could follow after Keith, and the way he pushed up the sleeves on his black sweatshirt that read… Seriously, what the hell did his sweatshirt say? 

“Mind turning this way for a sec?” Lance asked, and so Keith did, dropping his hands to his sides so Lance could read, “‘I hope that frog in your car is okay.’ What the hell kind of sweatshirt is that? Where do you even find shit like that?”

Keith looked down at it, and laughed to himself. “Shit, I forgot what I was wearing. Shay likes to print random quotes on shirts and stuff. She made this for me last Christmas.”

Lance came to stand against the counter, his forearms leant against the cool marble surface as Keith took out a knife and cut around the edges of the loaf. “So… how long have you known Shay then?”

“Well, we’re both sophomores. We were lab partners in our introductory propagation class, and… yeah. Friends ever since freshmen year, first semester,” he said as he lifted the bread out of the pan and plopped it straight onto the counter. “She’s pretty cool and artsy. You’d like her—maybe when she comes down again you can ask her about her photography project last year. I was in it.”

“So you have a history of being a model for art projects, you liar,” Lance laughed, and Keith smirked at him. “What was it on?”

“Bathtubs. It was cool. We went to Lush and got a much of these bath bombs because neither of us had used them before, and she wanted to test ‘em out. We were friends with some of the people already living here, so we got to use their tub,” he explained, meticulously divvying up the bread into equal slices. “Freshmen aren’t allowed to live here. They’re required to be in the dorms so the University can leech off of freshmen corpses after they pay for all of their hundred-dollar textbooks.”

“That’s a bit grim, but it’s accurate,” Lance mused quietly as Keith passed over a slice of bread to him. “Thanks.”

“No problem. I hope you aren’t allergic to nuts—probably should’ve asked sooner. Everyone here is crazy about nuts in banana bread and cookies and shit, so we had to put ‘em in,” he explained, and tapped Lance’s glass of water. “Finish that. I’m gonna put milk in it.” 

When they settled on the floor again, legs spread out beside one another, it was with banana bread and glasses of milk. It was pitch black outside, so the window over their heads just reflected the kitchen. Lance tore bits of his banana bread apart and nibbled on them. It seemed to melt in his mouth, all creamy and warm with butter and a hint of cinnamon. 

Shay came back down, along with a friend of theirs’ that was attracted to the kitchen by the utterly mouthwatering smell coming from the banana bread. They all sat on the floor together, and when newcomers came, Lance could see them through the reflection on the window over their heads. They finished off the first loaf between six people total, and talked until nearly one in the morning. 

It felt so… _weird_ being out and about so late at night—on a _school night_ for that matter. His Ma would _never_ permit such a thing in high school. Back then, the thought of staying up past ten was just _unheard_ of. 

“Have you shown Lance around the house yet?” Shay asked Keith as the conversations were winding down, and people had to leave to get ready for bed. 

Keith shook his head, and glanced over at Lance. “Would you want to stick around and look around the house? I mean, everyone’s gonna be asleep and shit.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he admitted as they all stood up. Before they could leave the kitchen, though, Lance was convinced that they couldn’t leave the kitchen in this state—people went and took out glasses and left them dirty on the counter, and there were plates form the banana bread, and _not to mention_ the pan from baking it. 

Shay helped clean up, and before she headed out, she wrapped Lance up in a hug and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for helping out. I’ll be up for a bit longer, so y’all can stop by my room to check it out, I wouldn’t mind.”

“That’d be awesome,” Lance said, smiling as he watched her twirl out of the kitchen before realizing that Keith was staring at him. “What?”

“I’m just surprised everyone liked you. You’ve got them fooled,” he remarked, and his smirk suggested he was joking, but either way Lance gawked and punched him in the arm. 

They left the kitchen and moved down the hallway, and down the stairs into the basement. “When we have parties, all the dancing is down here. It’s usually a mess, so…” Keith said, folding his arms over his chest to ward off the cold in the basement. It was decently sized—about the size of the frat living room—with concrete floors and decorative lights strung across the ceiling. “There’s a few people who live in the basement, but I’m up on the first floor with Shay. Sophomores get the first floor, usually.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because at parties people aren’t allowed on the top floors. Sometimes people wander into rooms that aren’t locked. My room’s always locked, though, so it’s not really an issue,” he explained as they made a loop through the basement, into a strange side room where it looked like the water heater was, and at last to another set of stairs. It was in a narrow nook with three other doors down the hallway—other bedrooms. 

The lighting was freaky, and kind of horror movie-esque, and Lance had to convince his heart that he _wasn’t_ about to be murdered down there. He was quick to follow Keith up the steps, who didn’t seem at all terrified. “You’re a bit skittish, huh?” Keith laughed as Lance surpassed him on the stairs.

“Scared of the dark, more like,” he confessed. “Also, doesn’t it worry you that you basically live on the set of a scary movie?”

Keith smirked at him, saying, “Sometimes, but not so much anymore. I’ve just been around here longer than you have.” He stepped down the hall to knock on one of the doors. They heard Shay’s voice on the other side, telling them to wait a moment.

When she opened up, Lance realized that he wasn’t at all sure _what_ he was expecting. He supposed something along the lines of the frat house he saw Keith at, in the basement with the spacious room including a bed and a futon. But this was smaller, more condensed, and fit for a double bed, a closet, and a desk. Not much else.

But even so, Shay ushered them in with a, “Tada! Welcome to my humble abode!” and Lance was all the more impressed by everything complimenting the basics. 

She had a massive astronomy tapestry hanging over her bed, and tucking against the wall. It was absolutely riddled with Christmas lights, all across the walls and ceiling. She had hanging plants pretty much _everywhere_ , and they took over the entire window sill beside her bed. 

She had a plain cream-colored comforter, and climbed over it with her bare feet. “Come on in! Just take off your shoes when you hop on the bed,” she told Lance, patting the comforter and ushering Lance onto it. 

He kicked his shoes off behind him and crawled onto the mattress. It was fluffy, and all-consuming, and he _loved it_. “This is _incredible_ ,” he told her, staring at the walls in shock. The bed dipped where Keith sat, claiming a small corner to himself with his legs crossed, hands clasped over his ankles.

Shay beamed at them, and said, “Really? You like it? Gosh, ‘cause I was worried. You’re an art student and all, and I was afraid it wouldn’t be up to your standards.”

“Are you _kidding me?_ ” he gawked, throwing his arms up as if to say, “Are you _blind?!_ ”

She tucked a stray strand of her brunette hair behind her ear, and grinned at him. “I mean, if I wasn’t an environmental science major, I totally would have been in fine arts or something.”

“Show him your photography project,” Keith told her, and she blushed a little. “What? It’s _good_.”

“Yeah, but…” she murmured, turning pink at the ears as she glanced over at Lance and back at Keith. Keith rose his eyebrows at her. “Okay, fine. Hang on.”

She reached across the bed to where her desk sat at the foot of it. She pulled her laptop off and slid it across the comforter, flopping onto her stomach as she rapidly typed in her password. “I dunno. I feel like… Well, I was the only non-art major in the class, so it was a little weird being surrounded by all these hyper-creative people. So I felt like I needed to really step up my game, ya know?”

“Dude, art students are trash. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lance scoffed, leaning in as she laughed a little.

“High standards, huh?” she mused humorously. “Well, I got Keith and this other girl from the Co-Op to help me out. We got a bunch of bath bombs from Lush to make the water all opaque and weird-looking. And ‘cause we have access to all the greenhouses, we snatched some vine plants and shit so… here it is!”

She pulled up the photos, and Lance’s jaw dropped. He leaned in closer and took control of the trackpad to sift through them himself. He was distinctly aware of Keith sitting there, gauging for his reaction, and… Lance could see why.

The photographs were so… _raw_ and _authentic_ —but so staged at the same time. There was something so glossy and appealing to them in the most bizarre, chilling way possible. The water was a range between evergreen to blood-red, and even dark, musty pink—something like mauve, but not quite. The tub itself was lined with leaves and vines, dipping in and out of the water and surrounding the two faces in the water—Keith and some anonymous girl with her pale white hair hinting out of the water, and encompassing them both. 

Lance pinched his fingers over his lips to keep from saying anything as they came to a photograph of Keith cradled to the girl’s chest, under the water, his shoulder exposed and pale white against the red water. Her hair was enveloped in green leaves, or rather—the leaves were enveloped by her hair as it dripped into the water. Keith’s eyes were closed, but Lance found himself staring into the striking green eyes of the girl staring directly up into the camera, as if aching to say something.

There were dozens of spare photographs of Keith and the girl half underwater, their faces framed perfectly, and their hair sticking to their cheeks and foreheads, or slicked back into the water. Shay had photographs of their dripping with vine leaves and water, emerging from the clawfoot tub. But there were so many intimate, raw images of the two of them sitting together in the tub, faces stoic, staring at one another, and a few spare ones of them laughing and smiling, pink with embarrassment from bathing together in the same tub for Shay’s photography project.

“—And it’s cool because Keith’s so chill about that stuff. I _was_ gonna ask my boyfriend to help, but he’s so immature and would crack sex jokes the entire time,” she admitted with a laugh. Keith didn’t say anything, just smiled at the remark and glanced at Lance as he rubbed his hands over his mouth before clasping them under his chin. “The girl, Nyma, is basically Instagram famous. She has the most aesthetically pleasing photo style, so she was all in,” Shay continued to explain. “She’s a junior now, and she’s studying plant genetics, I think.”

“Yeah, she is,” Keith said, tucking his thumb between his lips as he looked between Shay and Lance, who seemed to have lost all motor function. “I think your awesome photography broke him.”

“Really? Did you think it was good?” she asked Lance, nudging him in the arm gently to get him back into motion.

He cleared his throat and murmured, “That was the most beautiful thing I have ever experienced in my entire life.”

Shay squealed and enveloped him in hugs and kisses, hollering, “Yay! I’m glad you like it! I got an A- but I don’t even care! Everyone said it deserved a better grade, and I couldn’t care less about my professor’s opinion!”

Lance wasn’t at all surprised. Photography professors were _brutal_ at Arnette, at least from what he heard. 

“Yeah, and he was kind of a bastard. I think he discriminated against you because you weren’t an art student,” Keith commented as Shay smothered Lance in her affection before finally backing off to shut her laptop and push it back onto her desk. Keith admitted that they should keep moving on, so Shay let them, and was sure to get Lance’s snapchat before wishing them a good night, then shutting and locking her door. 

They went down the hall by one door, and Keith took out a keyring from his back pocket to open it. “If Shay getting all touchy-feely makes you uncomfortable, don’t feel bad about telling her to stop,” Keith reassured Lance, who was still recovering from it. But he couldn’t deny the fact that her room had been so warm and fuzzy and inviting. This hallway was so cold.

“I don’t mind. She’s nice,” he confessed, smiling as he glanced down the hall and then back towards Keith’s door.

He pushed open the door, and he stepped back to reveal the space equally as small as Shay’s, but no less appealing. The walls were red, and decorated with strings of lights diffused by round, semi-opaque orbs. They covered the areas of the walls draped with red curtains, and the space where his corner-desk was by the door. There were shelves mounted over his desk, covered with what looked like sci-fi books. 

“Holy fuck,” Lance said and gestured with his hand to ask if he could enter. Keith shrugged, so Lance stepped over the threshold and down the narrow space between Keith’s bed and his closet. His closet consisted of those red curtains instead of doors. 

Keith stood by the door, scratching his scalp as Lance inspected the place. “It’s… It was all kind of Shay’s idea. She helped me decorate. I swear she planned everything over the summer before we were even _assigned_ rooms,” Keith explained.

“I’m honestly so jealous right now. I wish _I_ could live in a place like this,” Lance admitted, laughing a little as he pushed his hands down on Keith’s raised mattress. It was at hip level, and underneath there were storage compartments hidden by the comforter. 

Keith checked the time on his phone, and hissed a little. “Y’know, it’s kinda late. One thirty.”

“Yeah, I’ve sort of given up on staying awake during my eight AM,” Lance confessed. “But you probably need to sleep.”

“I don’t have to wake up until eleven,” he said with a shrug. “You wanna stay here the night? I mean, it’s kind of a walk to get back to Kingsley and all.”

Lance’s brain stuttered for a moment, thinking, _Wait, but that doesn’t make sense_. When Keith didn’t expand upon it—like, _where_ Lance would be sleeping—his mind jumped to the conclusion that… well… the only place in Keith’s room _available_ to Lance would be Keith’s bed, which was a double, and…

“I…” Lance started, but in a matter of seconds his habitual night routine came to mind. He couldn’t even _consider_ sleeping until he washed his face, brushed his teeth—waking up with _morning_ breath! It would be too much of a disaster for Lance to even _consider_ staying the night with Keith. And besides, it was just their second date, among other things. 

“I shouldn’t,” he admitted, wincing a little as he did. How old-school did he sound, exactly? So he continued, “I mean, I didn’t bring my backpack or anything, and it’d be a hassle to go back to Kingsley tomorrow morning and stuff. Sorry.”

“That’s fine,” Keith reassured, offering one of those dazzling smiles as he nodded out into the hallway. “I’ll walk you out then. Also, I think you left your shoes in Shay’s room.”

Keith went to grab them for Lance while he navigated his way back to the kitchen to grab his jacket. Just as he was zipping it up, Keith came in and handed Lance’s sneakers over. “Sorry about ruining your chances of six hours of sleep,” he apologized.

“I don’t mind. S’not like I’ve been sleeping much anyways,” he confessed with a shrug. 

“Honestly, I can tell. You seem very prone to eye-bags, no offense. It’s kinda cute,” Keith commented, and Lance would have rolled his eyes had the compliment not come from _Keith_ , of all people. 

“Th-That sounds like something my _Ma_ would say to make me feel better about myself,” Lance stammered out, and Keith burst out laughing, “Glad to know I remind you of your mother!” 

When it came time for Lance to finally leave, they just sort of faded away from one another. They didn’t linger out on the porch wondering, _Man, is he going to kiss me or what?_ Lance just wandered down the steps while Keith waved, an arm crossed over his chest to ward off the chill. He wandered back inside, and Lance walked through the opening in the Co-Op fence before heading back towards Kingsley.

It wasn’t until he was back inside the warmth of the lobby that the clock struck two AM on his phone, and he realized he had a Snapchat waiting from his newest addition to his Snapchat Family. His fingers were still numb, so he waited until they stopped tingling to open it.

It was a picture of Shay holding up a piece sign, smiling so wide her eyes were squeezed shut. The text banner read, “ _You did it! You passed the test! Will update you on date #3_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the awkwardly long break between the posts D: Usually I update everyday so this is weird. I'm almost done with finals and then I'll be back onto the regular schedule.
> 
> Let me know what you think my dudes! :D


	6. A Lesson On Miscommunication

The next morning was a Thursday, and Lance woke up groggy, a slight heart attack rendering him momentarily useless when he realized his eight AM was now… nine AM. It wasn’t until he sat up in a panic that it became abundantly clear that he, in fact, did _not_ have an eight AM. The lie he fed to Keith somehow managed to make his brain freak out for almost no reason at all.

Lance groaned, hands over his eyes as he realized Shiro was up and about, stuffing things into his backpack for the day. “You’re up. What time did you get back?” Shiro asked him.

“Like, _two in the morning_ …” he moaned aloud, and flopped back down on the bed. He double-checked to make sure his alarm was still set to go off in another hour. 

“Seriously? What’d you guys _do_ over there?” Shiro asked, incredulously, and Lance scowled at his ceiling. That was certainly _one_ way for Shiro to suspect that Keith wasn’t ace at all.

“We just ate banana bread on the floor for, like, two hours. We hung out with his friend Shay and stuff,” he explained, and remembered vividly those photographs taken of Keith and Nyma in the bathtub. He slapped his hands over his face, and began to realize that the whole thing was probably a set up. No wonder Keith was so insistent on having Shay show him the photographs. He wondered if they _planned_ to have Lance go into Shay’s room, take off his shoes, and act like he was settling in for the night. He wondered if they _planned_ to show him those oh-so intimate photographs in an attempt to convince Lance that _No, Keith isn’t ace at all! Maybe we could fool around, he’d be cool with that, right?_

Now he _knew_ that Keith planned to ask Lance. It was the entire reason he probably invited Lance over at eleven at night. Eleven at night meant one AM would come in a jiffy, and it’d be a hassle to go back to the dorm. It would have been _so easy_ to spend the night in the same bed as Keith. 

“They tricked me,” Lance mused aloud, causing Shiro to pause in the middle of zipping up his coat. Lance rolled over, sitting up a little to stare at Shiro. “They tricked me. To make sure I wouldn’t take advantage of Keith. _Holy shit_ —the only reason I passed was because I was afraid of throwing off my night routine of washing my face and shit! I didn’t deserve to pass the test…” 

He flopped back with a groan, pushing his hands into his eyes. “I’m so weak. I totally would have stayed the night if I had my face wash and stuff. _Shit_. I don’t deserve him…”

“Okay, I’m kind of lost. What does your face wash have to do with not deserving Keith?” Shiro asked. 

“Because he asked if I wanted to stay the night and I lied and said I had an eight AM but really I just didn’t want to wake up with greasy skin and morning breath. But they took it as me not wanting to take advantage of Keith and make him uncomfortable. _Shit_. Shit, shit, shit…” 

Shiro was quiet for a moment before asking, “Well, _would_ you have taken advantage of him?”

“Not sexually! Gross, no, I wouldn’t do that. But sleeping in the same bed is basically the same thing,” Lance said, panicked at the thought of it. “But what _matters_ is the fact that I totally would have, and they don’t _know that_.”

“So don’t tell them. You learned your lesson, apparently,” Shiro said, slinging his backpack onto his shoulders and heading for the door. “I’ll see you later. Try not to stress out about it too much.”

“Yeah, see yeah,” Lance murmured, thinking to himself, _Keith is too pure for me. I don’t deserve this_ … He couldn’t stop thinking about the smile on Keith’s face after Lance confessed that he couldn’t stay the night. Maybe he knew Lance lied about his eight AM class—that just made it seem like he was intentionally coming up with an excuse not to stay the night. But the truth was this: Keith thought Lance was looking out for him. And _did_ Lance deserve that title at all? The title of someone worthy of dating Keith? 

  


  


It’s only fair at this point that Lance’s habit of not sleeping continued due to his inability to control his fucking brain for eight hours a night. He talked to Pidge enough about it to decide that eventually he’d have to tell Keith the truth—preferably before their third date. He could tell she was immensely disappointed with him for ruining it, but… he was beating himself up about it enough to know without her explicitly saying it. 

And it wasn’t exactly a subject he could bring up to his Ma, so that Saturday he spent a good five hours not even _worrying_ about it. It was _great_. He felt so _okay_ for the first time since meeting all of Keith’s friends at the Co-Op, and hanging out with Shay in her hella-hipster plant-nerd room. 

His Ma picked him up at the dorm, and he came out into the lobby to find her standing there by all the waiting chairs. “Mama!” he shouted, closing the distance between them in two seconds flat. 

She gasped at the sight of him, tearing up a little as she covered him in kisses and gave him a squeeze around the torso. He giggled childishly, feeling like he was four years old again, coming back from kindergarten for the first time. “ _Mama_ , stop it,” he laughed, leaning his head back. 

“Oh, sorry. I got a little excited,” she chuckled, patting his cheek and tugging him towards the door. “How’s my baby boy doin’? How’re classes?” she asked, arm still around his shoulders as they wandered down the stairs of Kingsley and out towards the parking lot. He told her all about his art classes, his gen. eds., among other things having to do with the few weeks they spent apart.

Just fifteen minutes spent in the car with his Ma did wonders for the pain and suffering of the past, oh, _two weeks_. And it wasn’t like he could _hide_ the bags under his eyes—though, concealer _did_ help a little. He had to buy some just to convince his Ma that he was getting eight hours of sleep a night. He would have borrowed from Pidge, but she was as pale as could be. She was practically a ghost standing next to him.

“You know you’re supposed to go to bed at ten.”

“ _Ma_ , you know that’s _impossible_ in college.”

“ _Lance_ , I’m serious!”

“Me too!” he cried out with a groan. “Whatever, I’ll try and get some sleep tonight. I don’t have anything going on tomorrow as far as I know.”

“Good,” she huffed with a curt nod of her head. She turned on her blinker, and they waited at a red light in the middle of downtown. “You should come home one of these days. We all miss you.”

“It’s too far of a drive, and I don’t want to waste money on a bus ticket,” Lance confessed with a sigh. “How is everyone?”

“Julian went to Homecoming last weekend. Though, I’m sure he told you _all_ about his date. He asked a girl on the track team to go with him.”

Lance laughed a little. He got _plenty_ of Snapchats _just_ of the two of them making faces at the camera. But he remembered her dress, and how beautiful the plum color was, matching Julian’s tie and everything. Lance remembered his first Homecoming—it’d been stressful, trying to pair the color of his tie to a swatch his date had sent a picture of _in the dark with a flash_. Somehow the color matched perfectly and they geeked about it practically _all night_.

They talked about the Homecoming and how it went, because it wasn’t like Julian would tell Lance the details himself. That would require torture in the form of Lance sitting on him until he spilled the details. Their Ma had _far_ better tactics, so of course the whole neighborhood knew that Julian got his first kiss that night. 

She bought him lunch at a old fashioned diner that was apparently in a classic movie she once saw in her college days. They walked the frigid streets and talked, talked, talked until they came to a candy store where she bought him a pound of chocolate-covered gummy bears that were _to die for_. Next door there was a bookshop—but it was for anything and everything having to do with the World Wars, which was bizarre in Lance’s opinion, but they wandered through it anyways. His Ma never really made plans—she just went with the flow. 

They went to her hotel then afterwards, which wasn’t too far from the bookstore, and they watched TV because Lance and Shiro didn’t have one—nor did they really _need_ one. _Gone With The Wind_ was playing, so they laid together on the queen-sized bed eating the gummy bears and watched about two hours of it together. It was all pretty mindless stuff, really, and honestly something Lance needed for the weekend.

Mama came back from the bathroom with her fuzzy slippers. It was ridiculous that she came so prepared for just _one night_. That was Lance’s Mama—she may not be able to plan events, but she sure knew how to pack right. Her heavy brown hair was pulled back into a bun at the top of her head as she crawled onto the bed, settling in next to Lance as the commercials ended. 

“Has everything been okay aside from classes?” she asked him, letting him tip towards her shoulder so she could cuddle him there, her arms around him.

“Everything’s fine. Pidge and I are still friends.”

“I wish I could meet her.”

“She’s intimidated by you, no offense,” Lance murmured. His Ma hummed in understand, and gave a shrug. He hesitated for a moment before looking up at her. “Is that your passive-aggressive way of saying you need to meet her today?” 

“I’m not saying anything,” she said pointedly—which meant of course she meant something by it. 

“ _Mama_ …”

“Okay! Okay. Would she and Shiro want to go out for dinner? My treat?” she asked, and Lance shrugged, saying that he’d ask them. 

Nearly immediately after he texted them, he knocked out for a solid hour. He woke up near the end of the movie, since it had started before they even got to the hotel room, and he found that she was asleep as well, leaning over the pillows behind him. His eyes felt groggy and crusty, so he rubbed them to clear the sleep away before finding that both Shiro and Pidge were on board with the dinner idea. 

He nudged his Ma awake and said, “Hey, dinner’s a go.”

She yawned, stretching her arms to the side as she said, “That’s great! Did you sleep well?”

He nodded, still rubbing at his face. It felt like it didn’t fit him right—that probably had something to do with the fact that he was _actually_ able to sleep for an hour without thinking of… anything. He didn’t dream, and he _definitely_ didn’t dream of Keith in the nude saying, “This isn’t sexual, is it?” 

“Hey Ma,” he asked, “I haven’t been sleeping well in the dorms. Is there something I could take to help me sleep?”

“A more regular schedule would help…”

“ _Mama!_ Besides that!”

“I’m serious! A regular schedule, and we’ll get you cherry juice. It always helps Rosa fall asleep,” she told him, pushing herself off the bed and kicking off her slippers in favor of actual shoes. “Now hurry up. We’ll stop by the store to get you some juice to drink before bed. Unless you want some of my herbal tea…?”

He fake-gagged and hurriedly got off the bed. “Gross, no tea please. Cherry juice is fine.”

  


**_5:34pm_ **

**Shay is typing…**

**Snapchat from Shay:** _Keith’s coming to pick u up from Kingsley_

**Lance is typing…**

**Lance:** _Ok… why didn’t he tell me this himself?_

**Shay is typing…**

  


**_5:40pm_**

**Keith:** _Im outside Kingsley rn_

 **Lance:** _What why?_

 **Keith:** _Didnt Shay update you? Get out here loser before I leave without you._

**Lance:** _I’m not even at Kingsley I’m at that sushi restaurant in downtown_

  


Lance stared at his phone periodically waiting for Keith’s response, but the screen remained forever blank, much to his dismay. He tapped his foot on the ground nervously, but how was _he_ supposed to know Keith was going to text him so suddenly? He supposed a little warning might have helped. 

“Everything okay?” his Ma asked, lifting a roll of sushi up with her chopsticks as she looked at him pointedly, those round doe eyes probing him for information. 

Pidge, who sat next to him with full-view of the texts, said, “Nah, it’s just Lance’s practically-boyfriend.”

Lance’s eyes went wide, and he kicked her in the ankle. Shiro, who sat beside his Ma and _just_ barely out of eyesight from her, looked equally shocked by Pidge’s blatant betrayal. Pidge shrugged, unfazed by their anger, mainly because Lance’s Ma now had her eyebrows up to her hairline, staring at her son in surprise. 

“A boyfriend, huh? Seems you skipped over that part,” she mused, pursing her lips before opening them to bite into her sushi. She was smirking, and Lance dreaded it. She knew full well that she would pry all of the information out of him before this dinner ended. 

“Aw, _Mama_ …” Lance whined, just thinking about poor Julian being forced to spill the details on his first kiss with Mama.

She lowered her chopsticks and raised her hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be the mother you tell everything to, honey. Back at home you would have told me _everything_ like that time you had a girlfriend in middle school, and—Well, I guess things change when your baby boy moves away to college. He starts keeping secrets, and maybe _that’s_ what’s making you sleep so terribly, hm? You know, you’d sleep a whole lot better if you just took all this weight off your chest and let me help you once in a while, but _no…_!”

Lance went bright red, covering his face in his hands as she switched from talking to Pidge to Lance to Pidge again—spreading _lies_ and all. Pidge ate all of it up, nodding and agreeing and saying, “You’re right! You are _so_ right. Your son has a serious problem. I can’t believe it’s come to this— _mhm_! Yup, I can’t believe it.” Shiro sat there smiling like at idiot, enjoying every second of Lance’s Ma spilling _all of the details_ about how upset she was over Lance getting his first boyfriend in college and _not telling her about it!_ Apparently it was just _unbelievable!_

“ _Mama…_ ” Lance pleaded. “We’ve only gone on two dates—I didn’t want to tell you until—”

“Until what, hm?” she said, snapping her fingers at him. “Until I was old and grey and _dead?_ Hm? Is that when you would have told me? What’s his name? Tell me his name, Lance!”

Pidge choked on her laugh, gawking at Lance as if to say, “You’ve done it now!”

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d tell all the neighbors about it! You know how they are—the entire town would know by the end of the week!” Lance exclaimed. 

“I would _never—_!”

Lance shook his head, laughing in distain as he snapped his fingers at her, leaning over the table. “You. Would. _Too!_ Rosa wouldn’t stop talking about it until you let her come here and badger him to death! And I don’t think he’d like the attention—you’d add him on Facebook and Instagram and _everything_. You’d share embarrassing cat pictures with him and you two would gang up on me, wouldn’t you?”

“ _Never—_!”

“You and Mae did it all the time!” Lance cried out. “There’s still evidence of cat pictures all over Mae’s Facebook wall!”

Mama leaned back, arms crossed and eyebrows still raised at him, clearly disappointed in him. Eventually she shook her head, lips pursed tight. “She _loves_ those cat pictures,” she said stubbornly. “And you two are still friends! I don’t see why it’s a problem we’re still friends on Facebook!”

“Wait—Tell me about Lance’s ex. I want to hear about this,” Pidge insisted, propping her chin up on her hand.

“Pidge, c’mon,” Shiro said, and Lance slapped his hand onto his forehead as his Ma went on a tangent about how _great_ Mae was. Lance stuffed all his aggravation into the sushi he scarfed down, and he wasn’t sure if the sick feeling in his stomach was from the food, or because his Ma was spreading _lies_ and _rumors_ about him. She was dragging his name through the mud without a care in the world.

It wasn’t until Shiro’s eyes went wide that he grabbed everyone’s attention away from the topic of Lance’s ex-love-life. “Whoa, what’s Keith doing here?” he asked.

Lance went pale, and he twisted around to look at the entrance to the restaurant. There was a bamboo screen partially in the way, but… there Keith was. He was tugging off his gloves as he asked the hostess where… they were. _Shit_. 

Keith looked over at them, following the hostess’s gaze. In the dim light of the restaurant, all maroon and black, he looked deadly in his pale skin and dark clothes, which didn’t change the way he seemed to glare at Lance. _It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault_ , Lance chanted to himself. How was he supposed to know Keith would pick him up? Or what time? 

Lance was about to scramble up to stop Keith from coming over, but he was already on the way, and Lance’s Ma practically shouted, “Is this the boy?” 

Keith came up to the booth and stole a chair from a nearby table. He yanked it over and pointedly sat on it the wrong way, forearms over the back as he swung his athletic bag onto the ground. He glared pointedly at Lance, who was overly horrified by the entire ordeal, before looking over the faces at the table. “Hey everybody. Sorry for crashing the party,” he said. 

Lance couldn’t tell _what_ the look on his Ma’s face was, but instinct told him that it would _never_ be good. And Pidge and Shiro were just there as spectators. _Fucking perfect_.

“It’s no problem,” Mama said, smiling at Keith as she reached a hand out. “I’m Lance’s mother. You can call me Miss McClain.”

It wasn’t until that moment that Keith’s entire demeanor changed. Lance… sometimes forgot how young his Ma looked—and it wasn’t that she was _young_ or anything. She just had the classic, smooth-skinned complexion untouched by wrinkles. She used _buckets_ of moisturizer—she was the entire reason Lance’s skin was the way it was. 

So yeah… it was reasonable to assume Keith had no idea that she was a mother at all. 

“O-Oh,” Keith stammered, and cleared his throat, reaching a hand out and shaking hers. “Nice to meet you… Miss McClain. I’m friends with your son.”

“ _Friends?_ ” she commented, those raised eyebrows now facing Lance, and then Pidge. “Friends,” she articulated again.

“ _Mama_ ,” Lance whined. “Be nice.”

“I _am_ nice.”

“Oh Jesus, this is too good,” Pidge whispered under her breath, smirking all the while. “Miss McClain, you should know Lance painted a _beautiful_ portrait of that man right there. You have a picture of it, right?” 

Lance turned red in an instant, and before he could deny it, Keith took out his phone. “Yeah, your son is an excellent artist,” he said, swiping through his photos and holding up the painting to her. “It was the first time I modeled for a painting. He’s actually supposed to accompany me to a modeling class tonight, which is why I came. But it seems like you all are busy, so…”

 _Yeah, because you never told me the time_ , Lance mused bitterly. 

His Ma was still staring at the portrait before she cleared her throat and handed the phone back. “A modeling class? That’s interesting.”

“Yeah. I never really considered it before, but… Lance convinced me to try it out,” he said, nodding over to Lance with a grin. “Right?”

“I didn’t exactly _encourage it_ ,” he remarked, annoyed, and earned a glare for it. He stuffed a sushi roll into his mouth and chewed on it angrily. “But yes, I guess I did suggest it.”

His Ma hummed, and then went straight into the interrogating. “So are you a freshmen too? What are you studying?”

Keith shook his head and said, “I’m actually a sophomore like Shiro. We actually knew each other last year. And I’m studying environmental science.”

“Is that how you and Lance met?”

“No. He actually drew my face about fifty times before asking if he could paint me.” To Lance’s utter horror and surprise, his Ma actually burst out laughing, shouting, “That sounds like something he’d do!”

“ _Mama!_ ”

She slammed her hands on the table, tears in her eyes as she giggled. “Oh, come on! It is! I know you better than _anyone_ at this table, honey. You really want to argue with me on this?” she snapped at him, and Lance’s face flushed all variations of red and pink while Keith stared at the both of the, smirking like an idiot.

“Keith and I actually met through the RA program,” Shiro changed the subject, much to Lance’s relief. “We had these huge group interview sessions, and we were in the same group during the process.”

“No kidding?” Mama said, brushing tears from her eyes as she turned to Shiro. They delved into the conversation about RAs, and how Keith didn’t get the position but Shiro did. Which led to where Keith was living now—the Co-Op—and how he… had to get going if he was going to make it to the modeling session on time. 

Keith pushed himself out of the chair and pulled out his gloves. “It was nice meeting you Miss McClain—”

“No, wait! Take my son—you said he was supposed to come with,” she interrupted, jumping up from her seat. Lance donned a startled look, and turned to Pidge to clarify that _yes_ , his Ma actually intended to send him out of the restaurant. “We’re basically done eating anyway. Lance, up, up!”

He groaned and scooted out of the booth. She went over to Keith and pulled him into a hug. Keith tensed a little, his hands half-lifted as if he didn’t know what to do. And honestly, he looked kind of panicked. “It was nice meeting you, Keith. I hope I get to see you again soon—and maybe _next time_ , Lance will actually _invite you_.”

“Don’t be mean, Mama,” he said, pointedly glaring at her as she turned to hug him next. He pressed his cheek to her hair, and breathed in the smell of her salon shampoo. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Mhm, you will,” she said—and it came out as a half-threat that made him worry more. She promised to drive Shiro and Pidge back to the dorm. Apparently they had _much_ to discuss.


	7. How To Be A Good Almost-Boyfriend

Lance held open the door to the restaurant for Keith, and glanced back to see Shiro and his Ma waving from their booth around the bamboo screen. He waved back before letting the door close. “Sorry about crashing your dinner,” Keith apologized, and to Lance’s surprise, his cheeks were pink. He honestly didn’t peg Keith as being embarrassed over this—he seemed pretty to-hell-with-it the entire time.

“It’s fine,” Lance sighed. “My Ma can be a bit overbearing sometimes. Sorry she singled you out like that.”

“Does she think we’re in a relationship?” he asked, and Lance shrugged.

“Pidge betrayed me and told her I had an almost-boyfriend, so that’s what she thinks this is,” he explained, gesturing to the both of them as they stood out in the cold, fading sunlight. “So where are we going?”

“It’s honestly just down the street from here. Which is lucky because we only have… five minutes to get there,” Keith said, checking the time on his phone before starting the walk. Lance hurriedly followed suit, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

They walked in silence for a while in the cold. Keith eventually pulled a hand out of his pocket to scratch at his hair before saying, “Look—I _really_ should apologize for storming in like that—”

“I told you, it’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t—I- I honestly thought you were _with-_ with someone else. And I got a little carried away so… sorry. That wasn’t okay, especially after a accused you of being jealous because I’m going into modeling and stuff. And we’re barely dating and I have no right to act that way, so… I’m sorry.”

Lance was almost surprised enough to just stop walking then and there and ask for clarification. _Keith_ , jealous? Of Lance? _Wow, what a concept_ , Lance laughed to himself, only to falter when he realized that wasn’t even a problem. Of course that wasn’t a problem, especially when there were bigger issues at hand. 

“Since we’re all apologizing or whatever, I think I should say sorry,” he confessed, rubbing a hand over his cheek nervously. “I know the whole ‘sleep over’ tactic was a test and stuff, but honestly I would have stayed the night if I came more prepared. And I don’t think it’s fair to say that I passed just because I happened to not have my backpack and shit. So if you wanna take back the third date idea, I… wouldn’t be offended because I shouldn’t have thought like that.”

There was silence between them for the remainder of the walk, and Lance agonized over every second of it. Keith came to a halt in front of the building doors, looking stoic as fuck because that’s just how he looked almost all the time—aside from when he stormed into the restaurant, or smiled at Lance when Lance decided that _no_ , he couldn’t stay the night. 

“Okay,” he said. He didn’t add on.

Lance quirked an eyebrow, saying, “Um… okay, what?” 

“Just okay,” he repeated. “So what? Obviously now you know my standards so you won’t think like that again, right? Unless I explicitly say so?” 

“Well, _yeah_. I mean, consent is a _thing_ , you know,” Lance scoffed, and Keith offered a small smile in return. “So… it’s okay then?”

“Yeah.”

Lance couldn’t believe how lucky he was.

Keith pushed his back against the door and spun inside, leaving Lance to follow. He swung his athletic bag over his head and around his shoulder as they climbed the stairs. Lance wasn’t quite sure _what_ building they were in, but he figured he could trust Keith enough to not get them lost. They counted the floor numbers until they approached the fourth one, and wandered down the hall. Lance looked through the door windows along the way, and found art studios in each one of them. Their lights were off, and desks standing stationary, silhouetted against the windows. 

One of the doors was open, and they could hear the murmuring of voices on the other side. A beam of light stretched out from it, and they stopped on the illuminated carpet, staring inside. Keith hesitated for a moment before taking the step over the threshold, and they were greeted by the smiling faces of four other students, and a woman who looked like the instructor of the class. She was dressed in a floral-printed silk robe, hands on her hips as she greeted them.

“And you must be Keith! Just on time,” she said, beaming at him. 

Lance stood by the doorway, knowing he couldn’t stick around unless he wanted to get bashed in the head for staring at a bunch of naked people. Everyone was clothed at the time he walked in, but clearly that wouldn’t be the case for long. 

“And who’s this?” she asked, gesturing to Lance.

He quickly shook his head, waving his hands in defense. “Oh, no, I’m not apart of the class. I’m just… friends with Keith.”

“Okay. If you wouldn’t mind stepping out into the hallway, we’re going to start class,” she said, walking over to the door as Lance stepped outside. “There’s an excellent coffee shop on the first floor,” she told him, smiling sweetly at him. He smiled back, only to have the door shut in his face, and a curtain drawn over the window. The door locked.

So… Lance went down to the coffee shop. It was honestly just a Starbucks, and it closed at eight. He had no clue how long the session was, but he hoped it wouldn’t take up more than two hours. And since his Ma badgered him into leaving his wallet behind at the dorm… he didn’t have any cash to pay for a drink. So he just sat there fiddling on his phone, willing the battery not to die. 

He wasn’t petty enough to say that it was _awful_. He supposed it was just his anxiety acting up, worrying incessantly over Keith up four floors from him. He spent that time wondering about the other people in the class, from what he could remember of their faces. It seemed to be a range of ages—probably a thirty-year-old woman; another younger man, probably mid-twenties; an older guy around forty-fifty; and another middle-aged woman. They all looked nice enough, and smiled courteously at them and all that. 

It wasn’t until half an hour later that Lance realized— _Wait a minute_ , that younger man had to be only three years older than them. He bristled a little, enough to tense and shuffle in his seat. That was… in Keith’s _dating range_. It wasn’t fair at all that Keith would probably see that stranger’s naked body before he ever saw Lance’s. _Totally_ unfair. 

_Maybe I should have taken nude modeling classes_ , Lance thought bitterly as he picked at a chip in his phone case. 

  


**Shay is typing…**

**Snapchat from Shay:** _So how’s it going?_

**Lance:** _Fine. We got to the lesson just on time. He’s in there now._

**Shay:** _Yeah? And what about you. What are you up to?_

**Lance:** _I’m just in a coffee shop waiting. I didn’t come prepared with anything._

**Shay:** _That’s fine. You can just talk to me._

**Lance:** _Yeah, if my phone holds out lol_

_How long is the session supposed to go? He never said_

**Shay:** _Like two hours or something. The first class is mostly just explaining shit about the industry, and then yoga and palates and stuff to get a taste for it. But, like, naked obviously._

**Lance:** _I didn’t need that visual, thanks_

_Also, I already talked to Keith about this but I should probably mention it to you, too. I think I cheated on the whole ‘test’ thing. I would have said yes had I had my backpack and face wash and toothpaste and stuff._

**Shay:** _He must be fine with it since you’re still there. Also, for the record, it sounds to me like you never had plans to stay over to begin with otherwise you would have brought all that. I’m guessing that’s what Keith’s thinkin rn_

**Lance:** _Yeah, you’re right I guess. I still feel bad tho. I don’t want to take advantage of him or anything_

**Shay:** _Don’t we all._

_Don’t think too hard about it._

**Lance:** _Thanks I’ll just tell my brain to stop thinking altogether because that’s totally possible._

_Ok that was kinda sassy sorry_

**Shay:** _You’re sweet Lance. Keith wouldn’t apologize for saying that. I’m glad you’re there for him_

  


Lance could tell the workers were starting to close up, so he left and sat outside the Starbucks, still talking to Shay frantically. A worker came out and closed the metal gate over the front, and he had a short conversation with them, a good laugh, and then they said goodnight to one another. Which left Lance alone in this weird building that was a hybrid of art studios and offices. 

He was in the middle of a game of sudoku when he heard voices echoing down the hall from the stairwell. He looked up and waited expectantly, recognizing the group of students now descending the stairs. Among them, he saw Keith’s black hair and the red of his athletic bag slung over his shoulder. He waved goodbye to them all, and gave a fist-bump to one of the guys before looking down either side of the hall, and spotting Lance standing there outside of Starbucks. 

As he approached, he semi-grimaced at the sign. “Yuck, I see Starbucks enough as it is,” he commented with a laugh. Lance stood up, stuffing his phone in his pocket. 

“So how was it?” he asked, and Keith shrugged—but he was smiling. Lance wasn’t sure what response he wanted more, but a smiling Keith made for a happy Lance, so that had to be good, right?

“It was… _fun_. I don’t know. Everyone’s really chill,” he said, and nodded towards the exit, silently suggesting they head out. “You probably don’t want the details, though.”

“So are you gonna go to the class again?” he asked, and Keith nodded.

“Hell yeah. They were talking about going to someone’s apartment next time for drinks after—would you want to come with? I don’t wanna get murdered or anything.” He bumped shoulders with Lance, grinning cheekily.

Lance rolled his eyes. “Wow, so we can get murdered together? Seriously, I won’t be much help in that.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t act like you don’t work out,” Keith laughed, and when Lance didn’t respond, his eyebrows rose. “Are you serious? _You_ don’t work out?” He pointedly grabbed onto Lance’s bicep from over his jacket sleeve, and shook it. 

“I mean, I _used_ to be in swimming, but that was before I graduated high school! I don’t work out much anymore,” he confessed, blushing a little. 

“So you mean _since last spring_.”

“It’s a long time! Enough time to lose muscle,” Lance whined, defensively rubbing at his arms. 

Keith badgered him about it the entire walk back towards the restaurant, and Lance wasn’t quite sure why until Keith veered off the sidewalk, still saying, “—It just isn’t fair that people who have a higher metabolism don’t _have_ to work out. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Wait—what are you doing? That isn’t _yours_ , is it?” Lance asked, startled as he pointed to the moped they walked up to. It was a two-person vespa with a slightly vintage touch—red with golden detailing, and a tanned, worn seat. Lance looked closer and leaned in to see a sticker on the side that read, “ _The kids are whack_.”

“Like it? Nyma had Shay make it because she had access to those labs when she took the photography class. God only knows why—I can’t imagine anyone would put actually _photographs_ onto stickers,” Keith said, kicking up the stand and straddling the vespa. “And by that I mean this is Nyma’s. She’s letting me borrow it.”

“No kidding?” Lance murmured, still impressed even if it _wasn’t_ Keith’s.

It wasn’t until Lance had already straddled the back seat that he realized one very important detail—riding a moped meant holding onto the rider. Keith seemed to realize this and turned to look over his shoulder at Lance as he said, “Don’t get used to it.”

For whatever reason, Lance burst out laughing, and through the tears said, “ _God_ , you are something else, lemme tell ya. I’ll just hang onto the back here.” With that, he reached behind him and grasped onto the handle piece attached to the back of his seat. Keith started up the engine and kicked them into gear, pulling out onto the street and cruising through a green light on the way back to Arnette.

The instant he turned the corner down another street and picked up speed, Lance shrieked and his hands flew forward to grapple for purchase on Keith’s jacket. He _swore_ he heard Keith _laughing_ over it. He pressed his forehead momentarily to Keith’s shoulder, laughing himself before looking up, squinting in the wind. 

Keith had a narrow waist—but of course Lance already new that based on how much he already observed Keith in general. His jacket hugged his torso before ending in an elastic band around the waist, enough to cover the hem of his black jeans and white t-shirt. Lance settled with gripping the loose fabric of Keith’s jacket where it connected to the elastic on either side of his hips, and swayed with the moped when they turned the corner down Lance’s street. 

Keith pulled into the Kingsley parking lot and parked on the edge of the handicapped spot. “Thanks for driving me back,” Lance said as he swung his leg over the seat and staggered onto the pavement. 

“No problem. Thanks for coming with. I hope it wasn’t too annoying, waiting for me.” Lance shrugged, smiling as he stepped to the side of the moped where he and Keith could see one another in the parking lot lights. He saw how pink Keith’s cheeks turned as he looked away momentarily and cleared his throat. “Um, so… I was thinking. I mean, I have a few midterms coming up so I’ll probably be pretty busy—”

“Same, same. Finishing up a lot of projects.”

“—So would you want to work on shit together some time?” he asked, and Lance’s grin easily slid into a smirk. Keith glared at him. “What.”

“That’s the most date-thing you’ve suggested.”

“I’m not saying we go to the library or whatever!”

“I know, but… study date,” Lance giggled, and earned a punch in the arm for it. “Yeah, okay. That sounds good. Let me know when—preferably not last minute like… the last two times.”

Keith snickered at him, turning on the engine again and pulling out of the parking spot wordlessly. He never _did_ give Lance an answer—he just sort of… drove off with Lance shouting after him, “You’ll _warn_ me next time, right?!” 

  


  


After Lance had some cherry juice and washed up for the night, he was _out cold_. He’d never fallen asleep so fast in his life. It was a religious experience—like his soul transcended from his body for nearly ten hours and came back feeling brand new. It was incredible. It was exhilarating. He felt like he should celebrate or something, and so in the morning when he woke up, he was alive enough to actually _do something_. He went out and bought a box of donuts for himself and some of the people in their hall. Shiro came with him to distribute them, and at almost every door the guys answered with, “Hey Dad—thanks.”

When the doors closed, Shiro would mutter, “They planned this, didn’t they?”

“Yeah. I didn’t get in on it since it’d be weird—we room together and all,” Lance confessed, knocking on the door to one of the girls’ rooms. It was noon, so everyone _should_ have been up anyways. The names on the door read Flerona Klein and Nora Plaxum—two freshmen who frequented their dinner table.

The girl who opened the door, Flerona, had her heavy ginger hair wrapped up in a bun, and greeted them with a cheery, “Hey Lance, Dad—whatchya got there?” They could hear her roommate giggling from the back of the room, and Shiro scowled a little. “Ooh, not much of a morning person, huh?” she jested.

“Why are you all calling me ‘Dad’? It freaks me out,” Shiro muttered. 

Lance popped open the donut box, and soon two more donuts were gone. “Don’t take it personally,” the girl told Shiro as she bit down onto the donut. Mid-chew, she added, “Besides, it’s kinda kinky, _Daddy_.”

“Holy shit, I’m going to murder whoever started this,” Shiro growled under his breath, red in the face from both embarrassment and raw, unadulterated anger. “I bet it was Rollo. He’s had it out for me since Day One of Welcome Week.”

Flerona rose her eyebrows, still smirking diabolically as she turned away, saying, “ _Bye_ Shiro… Lance…” and shut the door.

“I, personally, find it hilarious,” Lance said, “and totally worth it.”

They came to Pidge’s single room next, and upon knocking on the door, they heard a _thump_ followed by a very colorful, “ _Fuck!_ ” Shiro visibly winced from beside Lance, and when the door finally creaked open, he asked, “Are… you okay?”

“Now’s… not the greatest time,” she winced, expression pained as she turned to head back inside. Lance took that as the opportunity to follow, and nudged the door open with his foot before entering the premises. 

Her room was dark, all except for her laptop, which was now on the ground along with a tangle of blankets. A strip of light dipped out from between the curtains over her desk, and glowed over the ceiling. She stooped down to pick up the blankets with a grunt, and wrapped herself up before snuggling down onto her beanbag. “Are you feeling all right?” Lance asked. “I got donuts, you want one?”

“Hell yeah. Any cream-filled or chocolate ones?” she asked, squinting at him as he propped open the box top and picked one out for her. She reached a hand out of her cocoon to take it. 

“Is it the sushi from last night?” Shiro asked, and added to Lance, “We got malted milkshakes with your mom afterwards. You missed out.”

“Damn, what a shame,” he laughed, only to be interrupted by Pidge groaning.

“ _Leave_. I don’t want to talk to boys today,” she moaned, turning over and closing her eyes, glasses pushed against her forehead. “You mock me.”

Lance got the hint before Shiro. “Yeah, we’ll leave you be. C’mon buddy, let’s go.” He tugged on Shiro’s arm to drag him out of the room as if he was making a beeline away from a war zone. Shiro, stubborn as ever, dug his feet into the ground.

“If you’re sick, the University provides me with medicine and shit. I could get the thermometer to see if you’ve got the flu,” Shiro said.

“ _Shiro_ , c’mon—”

“It’s not _that_ ,” she whined. “Leave me alone.”

“But if you’re sick—”

“I’m on my fucking period, you shithead,” she snapped. “I haven’t gotten it this bad since fuckin’ _junior year of high school_. I just want to eat my donut in peace, all right?”

If there were any lights on, Lance was certain Shiro would have been bright red. But bless his RA training. “You want an Advil? Do you have enough supplies? Make sure you drink a lot of water, okay? Where’s your water bottle?” he demanded, running around the room like mad, searching for it before he swiped it off of the little metal tray attached to the top of Pidge’s loft. She just stared at him, and Lance was just as impressed when he forced the water bottle into her little nook on the beanbag and said, “I’ve got heat pads if you want one.”

“… Really?” Pidge squeaked out, reaching up to push her glasses up as Shiro nodded. “That… would be _awesome_ , actually.”

“Cool. Cool. My guess is that moving to a new area screwed up your schedule. Some of the RAs who get their periods said moving really screwed them over. Also, it might be because of the new diet—apparently that affects it too,” he explained, and Lance’s jaw was practically on the floor by the end of it. Pidge was no better. “I’ll get the heating pad and warm it up for you,” he promised, and was out the room, dragging Lance with him. Lance was certain he wouldn’t have moved an inch otherwise because he was so shocked.

He staggered out into the hall after Shiro, stumbling all over himself. After they were far enough away from Pidge’s closed door, Lance blurted out, “That was the suavest thing I’ve ever _seen_. You must be a real hit with the ladies.”

“Shut up. I’m just doing my job,” he argued, scowling ahead as they reached their room. Lance sauntered in and tossed the box of donuts onto his desk as Shiro went to the huge safe the University provided the RAs with to keep medicine and shit in. He pulled out a bottle of Advil and the heating pad, and tossed it into their microwave for a small while. 

As it cycled around, Lance said, “It sucks that she has to go through that. I mean, it’s basically her body saying ‘Yo, I’m ready for a baby’ when A) she does even want to have sex and B) she hates children. So what’s the point of having a period at that point?”

“In case she changes her mind,” Shiro murmured, and he earned the harshest glare for it. Shiro rolled his eyes, gesturing broadly with his hand, “I _mean_ , well—okay, I take that back.”

“Uh-huh, you better,” Lance laughed, impressed by how douchey that was of the #1 RA Dad. 

“Don’t tell her I said that.”

“I doubt she even knows that you think she doesn’t exist…” he droned, and Shiro groaned as the buzzer went off. He swiped the heated pad out and took the Advil with him on the way out. Lance stuck his tongue out at Shiro before he was completely gone. 

Lance’s phone buzzed in his pocket, so he fished it out and saw Allura’s name listed on his home screen. Ah, yes, that girl he bought a coffee for. It wasn’t like they talked _terribly_ frequently, except for around the time of the frat party Lance and Pidge went to. She ended up going later than them, so they completely missed her that day. Other than that, they didn’t really have any… _reason_ to talk. Just a chance encounter, he assumed.

  


**Allura:** _Hey! One of your friends said you had donuts and I’m near Kingsley rn! Wanna hang? Mostly so I can snatch one if there’s any left lol_

**Lance:** _Yeah sure! Room 140 on the far end of the hall_

**Allura:** _Sounds good! Maybe we can work on homework together for an hour or something to pass the time and you can tell me all about how Keith is ;)_

**Lance:** _… Who do you know on this floor?_

  


By the time Shiro came back to the room, it was to the sight of Lance and Allura lounging on the floor trying to decide how best to cut a donut in half without a knife. They didn’t have a plate or a cutting board or… _anything_ for that matter, so they used the back of Lance’s drawing board and his multitool to cut the donut with. They were stopped by the sound of Shiro saying, “Uh… hi?”

Allura yelped a little, and laughed to herself, nudging Lance, “You didn’t tell me your roommate was around!”

“I didn’t think it was relevant,” he confessed, and Shiro gave him a dull look. “Oh—but Shiro, this is Allura. Allura, this is Shiro, my roommate and also the RA for this hallway.”

Allura hopped to her feet to shake hands with Shiro, and said, “Sorry for intruding. Hope you don’t mind—I was just around here this morning and didn’t want to head back to my dorm yet. Meadowcliff and all that.”

“Yeah, Kingsley’s pretty far from there,” Shiro admitted. “I don’t mind, though some warning would have been nice, Lance.”

He went pink at the ears, but Allura shook her head, waving her hands. “Oh, no, it’s my fault. It was super last minute and I was already in the lobby by the time Lance told me the room number. Also, donuts were promised, so here we are.”

She twirled back over and sunk down onto the ground again, reaching over to lift up her half of the donut. Shiro still looked a bit thrown-off, but managed to keep his shit together as he put the Advil back and went over to his desk. He asked if they wanted music, to which Allura replied with, “Yes! Something relaxing so we can focus on homework.” 

After a few minutes of “focusing,” Allura leaned back on her hands and threw her head back, studying Shiro upside-down for a moment before saying, “Say, since you’re an RA, that must mean that you’re a sophomore or a junior, right?”

“Sophomore.”

“Oh, cool.”

She stared ahead for a moment, and Lance observed her from over the edge of his laptop screen. She looked like she was focusing, before she caught eyes with Lance and went to grab her phone. A moment later, she was staring furiously at her phone screen, tapping away rapidly, before sending the message and waiting pointedly for Lance to get it. His eyebrows pulled together in confusion, before reaching for his phone and reading off, “ _You never told me your roommate was hot, so he must be straight, right?_ ”

Lance almost choked laughing, and slapped his hand over his face before typing back, “ _Hun, that man is a handful. Don’t even bother_.”

She got the message, and a second later she leaned back again, “So Shiro, what are you studying?” Lance rolled his eyes, thinking, _Good luck, girl_.

“Right now, physics. In general, mechanical engineering.” 

“That’s incredible. Must be tough…”

“Not if you’re doing what you love,” he answered, and leaned back in his seat with his arm tucked over the back of his chair. Evidently he intended to give her his full attention. “And you?”

She twisted around to look at him better, silver hair falling over her shoulders. “Medical sciences. O-Chem midterm coming up.”

“That’s rough. The TAs are shit in that class.”

“I know! They’re so mean!” she laughed. “I can’t understand my TA for the _life_ of me. I wish I knew a little French so I could follow the accent, but _come on_.”

They both dissolved into laughter, and Shiro’s experience with foreign TAs in his physics class. Lance watched and observed, before realizing this study date with Allura just turned him into a third wheel. He didn’t really mind, though, because at least Shiro was doing something other than studying 24/7. Allura and he talked for a straight hour before they somehow got onto the topic of how she met Lance.

“Oh. He was apparently ogling at Keith when he bumped into me and spilled my coffee. He bought me a coffee at the Starbucks where Keith works, and… yeah. We haven’t really talked much since, which is sad,” she confessed, looking over at where Lance leant up against his futon and shrugged. She glimpsed at the time on her laptop screen, and gasped a little. “Oh, shit—I did _not_ mean to take up so much of your time. Sorry.”

“I don’t mind,” Shiro said, smiling as he noted her open textbook on the ground, and the mention of her O-Chem midterm coming up. “Do you… need help studying?”

Allura fidgeted for a second, and said, “No, you have a lot of stuff to do, probably. I’m fine.”

“Alright, but just so you know, I happened to be a biology major before I switched over, and I know more than I probably should about organic chemistry.”

“No shit?”

“Ha! Yeah, I do. So if you ever need any help,” he said, and the suggestion was clear enough. But little did Shiro know, he played directly into her diabolical hands, and Lance was _far_ too amused by it to pass up sending snaps to Pidge with updates.

It started with just Allura talking to Shiro, who was still at his desk leaning over the back of his seat. It moved to Allura giving the camera a sly look—she was about to go in for the kill—while Shiro sat oblivious at his desk, pouring over his notes and writing out study cards. It ended with an action shot of Shiro moving out of his seat because Allura asked for his opinion on her work, which resulted in Shiro _never_ moving back to his desk, and stuck next to Allura, shoulders touching and everything. 

_Those kids_ …

Dinner time came sooner than anticipated, and Lance realized this because his Ma called him to take him out again that night before her drive home. He got up to get ready, and Allura made to leave when Shiro said, “Why don’t you eat here for dinner? I mean, Kingsley’s got some decent food choices.”

“Emphasis on _decent_ ,” Lance scoffed, but earned a “What the fuck, dude?” look from Shiro when Allura wasn’t looking. “Oh, right, but it’s fine. The salad bar’s super good.”

“I wouldn’t mind sticking around a bit longer,” she confessed as Lance stepped out of his closet, zipping up his coat. “Tell your mom I say hi! And that I exist!”

He laughed and said, “Okay, will do. But you know that means next time she comes, she’ll have to take you out to dinner too.”

“I’ll take it,” she giggled, and hopped up to hug him farewell and told him to text her sooner next time, so they could hang out again. He thought it was funny because that suggested that the _two of them_ hung out, and that it hadn’t turned into a study date with Shiro where Lance was the third wheel. He wasn’t bitter at all, of course not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so ready for this Shiro-Pidge character arc. So ready. My last exam is tomorrow night, and then I gotta move out and stuff, so I probs won't post again until Friday or Saturday. 
> 
> Let me know what you think my dudes! Thoughts, theories, and suggestions are appreciated :D


	8. Certified Dad Smell With A Side Of Bodyguard Duty

When Lance came back from dinner with his Ma, he went to check in on Pidge—with _warning_ , of course. He didn’t have plans to get punched in the balls for showing up unannounced. So when he knocked on the door, it was with the hand that didn’t hold a to-go box of chocolate cake, and a deep breath to ensure that his smile looked genuine. 

She opened the door scowling, anyways.

“What.” she deadpanned. She looked relatively better since he saw her that morning, if not all variations of _tired_.

“I brought dessert. You want some? If you don’t eat it all I’ll take the rest,” Lance said, holding out the to-go box to her. She looked at it hesitantly before reaching out and accepting the offering. She turned away from the door, and Lance caught it before it could swing shut.

He sat on the floor next to her beanbag where she sat. The windows were open now, and it was brighter and less dungeon-esque. As Pidge used a spoon to scoop out bites of cake, Lance reclined with his head against the beanbag. He scrolled through his phone, and found himself lingering on the message from Keith saying, _Get out here loser before I leave without you_.

Pidge’s hair tickled Lance’s head as she leaned over to look. She reached over his shoulder and swiped her finger over the screen. Lance let her, because there wasn’t much evidence for her to sort through. “Is this literally the only conversations you guys have had via text?” she asked.

“Yeah. He doesn’t like to text, I guess,” Lance murmured. “How’s the cake?”

“Perfect. Everything I could ever dream of. What is with you and Shiro spoiling me just ‘cause I’m bleeding a gallon of blood today?” she asked around a mouthful of chocolate. Lance scoffed a little, and leaned his head back to look at her. 

“Shiro and I had a conversation about it. It’s unfortunate that you have to have a period when you never want to have kids.”

“Or have sex.”

“Yeah, that too.”

“Glad you two could have a meaningful conversation about my non-existent sex life. I really appreciate that,” she said, but it was so stone-cold that Lance couldn’t tell if it was sarcastic or not. “No seriously. Besides, it’ll probs help you and Keith understand each other better, you know? I’m hanging out with him on Sunday.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right, and— _wait_ , what? How? He never mentioned anything about it to me!” Lance whined. _He never mentions anything at all_ , he corrected himself internally, bitterly, and altogether offended by it. “When did this happen?!”

“I hunted him down on Facebook. He’s kind of cryptic—he doesn’t even have any photos of him or anything. I’m surprised I was able to track him down with just one picture of him taken by someone at the Co-Op,” she explained, and handed the cake to Lance so she could pull up her laptop. “He said that he doesn’t use Facebook at all, so it’s useless friending him on there. So now we’re Snapchat bros. See?”

She opened her phone and held up her assortment of friends, with the emojis next to the top ones. She swapped the default emojis for knives, and Keith even had a skull next to his name. They had… _a five day streak_. A five day streak. 

“What the fuck,” Lance whined, grabbing her phone. “Why am I not Snapchat friends with him! I bet he takes the most mind-blowing selfies the world has ever seen. People would kill for them! He could take over a government with those selfies for all we know!”

“He doesn’t take selfies. He takes foot-shots. Speaking off…” she reached over and opened her phone. The devil always takes screenshots, and she had _plenty_ of evidence of her devil-status. She even had a picture of… _both_ Keith and Lance’s feet in the same frame, on the tiled kitchen floor. He could tell that the pictures were taken fast because of the slight blur, but either way it read, “ _I just assumed he was extroverted I dunno_.”

“What were you guys talking about?” he asked, squinting at her suspiciously.

“Keith’s introverted, and when you came up to him at the party he was, like, in the middle of a cool-down sesh ‘cause partying is exhausting for him. Anyway, _initially_ he didn’t want to hang out with you because at the party you came off as _super_ extroverted. It takes effort to ask strangers questions and randomly play beer pong with them, in case you weren’t aware.”

“What’s wrong with being extroverted! And I’m not—okay, I’m not _totally_ extroverted. You agree with me that parties suck!” he cried out.

“Exactly! So he was pleasantly surprised that you didn’t talk his ear off during the painting session,” she explained, locking her phone and moving on to her laptop. “Anyway, that’s all I can say. The rest is too conceptual for your dumb brain.”

“H-Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Nothing! Nothing at all.” He witnessed her smirk, and wished he had the sense to swipe through the rest of her screenshots. There had to be more evidence in that phone.

  


  


Eventually Lance left Pidge to her peace, and returned to his room to find a nerdy boy laying on the floor of their room mumbling, “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it.” Lance stuttered in the doorway, and glanced behind him to be sure that no one else was seeing this iconic meltdown. He closed the door slowly, and suddenly Shiro popped up into a sitting position, hands over his face. 

“What’s goin’ on, buddy?” Lance laughed a little, smiling as he kicked off his shoes and tugged off his jacket. Shiro was staring into oblivion, until suddenly be blinked rapidly and shook his head.

“I just… I’ve never gone on a _real_ date before, and… I think I have one for next Friday,” he admitted, smiling as he now turned to follow Lance’s footsteps towards his desk. “She’s incredible! She’s the smartest woman I know!”

“That’s up for debate. Emma Watson is _definitely_ the smartest, most beautiful woman _I_ know,” he announced credulously, only to earn a dull look from Shiro.

“I’m talking about someone who’s _real_ , Lance. Not a face you see on a television screen,” Shiro said. “And you two are really friends? I find that hard to believe.”

Lance gawked at him, sputtering out, “Wh—Well _yeah_ , we’re friends! But not, like, super close friends! She seems like… sorority-status, ya know? Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but she’s just not my type.” 

“She’s also not a guy, so…” Shiro argued, which prompted Lance to snatch the pillow off the futon and swing it at him full-force. Shiro cried out, scrambling to get out of the way as Lance badgered him with the pillow. 

When Lance finally calmed down enough to throw down the pillow, Shiro collapsed onto the futon laughing softly, until it all just faded away. “What do you wear to the movies?” he asked, voice numb. “How early is _too_ early to get ready? What time do I pick her up if the movie’s at, say, seven?” In an instant, his voice turned into a panic, gasping as he leaned over his knees. “What if I forget to wear deodorant? What do you do when you go on dates with Keith?”

Lance scoffed, collapsing next to Shiro with a sigh. “Hell if I know. They weren’t the sort of dates I usually go on, you know? But—wait, can we back up for a second. You said that this is your _first date?_ ”

Shiro didn’t move from his stressed position, trying to collect his scattered thoughts. “No, I haven’t. Not really.”

They both fell quiet, and Lance hadn’t meant the silence to last so long, but he just… couldn’t find the words. Allura was right about one thing—Lance wasn’t _blind_ —and that would have to be the fact that Shiro was _hot_. He was an _incredible specimen_ , enough so for even _Pidge_ to comment on it once. Lance totally would have panicked every day of the semester over the fact that he was rooming with a guy like Shiro, but it was blatantly obvious how straight Shiro was. 

Lance stared at Shiro’s profile in wonder. How a beautiful man like himself could avoid dating all this time was… an honest to God _phenomenon_.

“You really haven’t been on a date before?” he repeated.

“Not really.”

“Well, what’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“It means I haven’t been on a _real_ date before! I don’t know what to do, aside from what they show in movies and shit!” he exclaimed, clasping his hands over his mouth. “She’s probably been on dozens of dates. How do I compete with that?”

“I mean, I don’t know her too well, but I know she’s not a _slut_ , Shiro, and even if she was I wouldn’t give her that title,” Lance snorted. “But from what I’ve observed, she’s the alpha of the two of you and what she says goes.”

“And that’s…?”

“ _Good_. _Definitely_ good,” he scoffed, laughing, “because it means she’ll probably be making the big moves and you’ll just go with the flow without even knowing it. Don’t think too hard about it.”

Somehow, some _fucking way_ , Shiro managed to take that advice to heart and put it out of his mind until Thursday night. Lance was honestly astonished. Never in his _life_ had he been able to just… forget about a life event as critical as this! Like, _fuck_ , why couldn’t his brain turn off like Shiro’s did about those sorts of things? Shiro was perfectly functional from Monday to Thursday and it was like being in the presence of a god. 

But Thursday night came anyway, and so did the panic. 

Lance had been in communication with Allura more frequently, so he was fully aware of her diabolical brain and decided to just let her roll with it. Whatever. He couldn’t tell what Shiro even wanted out of this aside from one real date in his life, so Lance supposed he’d just have to wait and see how things panned out after Allura’s plan was set in motion on Friday. 

It meant that he got to see the repercussions of Allura’s cryptid texts sent to Shiro, and how he hyper-analyzed the simplest conversations like, commenting on the sucky dining hall food or Shiro’s awful walk to class in the rain-slash-snow and how, “ _Aw hun, I wish I could’ve lent you my umbrella!_ ” 

Lance came back from dinner on Thursday night and found Shiro rifling around in his closet— _Lance’s_ closet. “Dude, what the fuck?” Lance blurted out before he could stop himself, and Shiro instantly swiveled around, holding approximately five of his shirts at once, a crazed look on his face.

“I’m losing my mind,” Shiro said. “What do I wear?”

“For _what?_ ” Lance laughed, tossing his key onto the futon and stepping to the side as Shiro cruised out of the closets, threw down the shirts, and picked them up one by one, holding the hangers up to one another and comparing them. “ _Oh_ , the date.”

“Yeah. What do I wear? We’re going to the movies, so obviously not dance-formal wear. And—what _shoes?_ I only own six pairs of shoes.”

“ _Only—_?”

“They’re for different circumstances and none of them prepare me for this!” he cried out. 

“I’m not fashionable!”

“Allura says you are!” 

Lance’s jaw dropped—that _traitor_! How dare she betray them both like this? So of course she’d set Shiro up to badger Lance like this when he didn’t even know Allura’s taste to begin with. He supposed Allura in particular _did_ like his sense of style, which by default meant that she was insinuating Shiro should dress like Lance, right? That _bitch!_

Lance boiled a little at the thought, and went over to snatch the shirts that were his, and stuff them back into his closet. “Okay, first off, you can’t go around dressing like me. Then you’re just being someone completely different from who she signed up for, so _none of that_ ,” he stressed, jabbing a finger at Shiro. “That just means we have to make her fall in love with what you already have, which won’t be an issue. Hang on, I’m gonna grab some alternate opinions to help out.”

Lance left and a few minutes later, came back with the girls down the hall after having explained the entire situation. They congratulated Shiro on scoring a date with the future Kingsley Mom, which just made Shiro groan, “This is going to be a _disaster_ …” before he was shoved onto the futon. Lance, Nora, and Flerona went and ransacked Shiro’s closet, and started paring shit together as best they could for date-material. It was insane how three heads could come up with the ultimate date outfit in a matter of ten minutes.

“Let me see all of your cologne-slash-deodorant,” Nora demanded, and so Shiro got up and sifted through his stash.

“This is my usual one, but—”

She sprayed it in the air and they all took a sniff of it. “Okay, so Certified Dad Smell happens to be something like mangos. Good to know,” she said, and earned a glare for it, and a giggle from Flerona. “But I mean, it’s _al_ right. It’s not _killer_ , you know what I’m saying?”

“Agreed. He needs something more unique. Like, His Personal Smell,” her roommate said, and sprayed the next one after the mango dissipated. A pleased expression came to her face. “Ooh, I like it. Not too overwhelming, and I don’t feel like I’m dying.”

“I approve of this decision,” Lance agreed, humming pleasantly at the aroma of it. Shiro looked entirely too out of his element to comment, and just took the cologne from Nora with a sigh.

“Okay, but this doesn’t change the fact that I have no clue what I’m doing in general,” he told them.

“From what I hear, it sounds like you won’t even _need_ to know what’s going on. If you think too much about it, none of it will make sense,” Flerona warned him, and ticked one of her fingers up. “I say, just do whatever Allura tells you. Sounds like she knows what she’s doing if she managed to get _you_ to go on a date.”

“She’ll probably fight you on paying for the tickets. Just split the cost—it’s a first date. No one should have to pay for anyone in my opinion,” Nora told him. “Insisting you pay just shows how old fashioned you are. But if she doesn’t offer, then pay for her. And that _doesn’t_ mean she’s leeching off of you. It probably just means _she’s_ the old fashioned one.”

Shiro blinked at them and shook his head. “Okay, I’m confused. So is it bad for me to pay for the tickets?”

“ _No_ , only if she insists on paying. Then you suggest that you each pay for a ticket,” she said. “Got it?”

“Yeah, totally.”

Lance wanted to slap his hand over his face, and waited until Nora and Flerona left before doing so. Shiro turned around after having closed the door, and much to Lance’s relief, looked a _lot_ better. The panic was nearly gone after they talked about the details of actually _being_ in the movies. “Okay, so… if she offers to pay, we both pay, and then I’m allowed to put my arm around her shoulders. But if she doesn’t offer, it might be rude to put my arm around her, because that’s more second-date material, right?” Shiro said, spouting off on a tangent as he slowly climbed into his bed and hid underneath his covers, murmuring to himself all the while. 

  


  


“So apparently the date went well,” Lance was saying as he held the door open for Keith. They started the conversation on Shiro’s date outside of Kingsley, and continued it after stopping outside of the building to the modeling class. “I mean, he’s been texting her _constantly_ all today. So much for the whole Wait-A-Day rule.”

“Minimal self-control,” Keith agreed.

“ _Exactly_.”

He shrugged up the straps on his backpack as they started up the stairs. Keith had his athletic bag slung over his shoulders, and he walked alongside Lance as he went on talking. “Yeah, so… They went to see fuckin’… I think it was _Avatar II_ or something weird and time-consuming like that. But they’re both super into sci-fi and shit so that’s what they decided on. And it took long enough for them to _make_ the movie, might as well see it, you know?”

“Was it good?”

“Hell if I know. All Shiro talked about was how Allura, like, held his hand the whole damn time. She spent all four hours or some shit playing with his fingers. Apparently it was the most relaxing hand-massage he never knew existed,” he explained, and Keith laughed out loud.

They came to the fourth floor where people from the class were gathering around the closed door, waiting for the instructor to arrive and unlock it. When they came into view of the group, the older fella hollered, “Ey! It’s Keith! How are you, my boy? How’s the day treatin’ you?”

Keith laughed, smiling adorably as the two of them approached the group and said, “I’m fine, Coran. Thanks for asking.” 

Coran beamed at them both, strikingly orange mustache curling. He had the build of a vintage lumberjack ad, with the buzzed sides turning grey along the edges, and the curl to his ginger hair. Lance found him to be rather comical, especially when he asked to Lance was. 

“Oh, this is… my boyfriend, Lance. We both go to Arnette together,” Keith explained, gesturing to Lance as Coran reached out to shake his hand. Lance stepped forward and shook his hand, along with the other two—Luxia, and Lotor. 

“Gwen dropped the class,” Luxia told them. “So it’s just us four now! Unless… Lance…?”

“Oh, no, I’m good. Thanks,” he laughed. “I’m actually in the fine arts school at Arnette, so in a few weeks I’ll be drawing models rather than _being_ one.”

“I thought that was coming up a bit sooner,” Keith commented, mentioning the still life from their portrait session. He explained that they had a filler project between the sections of the class, and on top of that, how everyone had to practice modeling— _fully clothed_ , mind you—before the professor would bring in a nude model.

They prattled on about this-or-that until the instructor showed up in an ankle-length dress littered with embroidered flowers. She greeted them all cheerfully, and went to unlock the door. They stuck around outside while the instructor set up the room, and at that point Coran said, “Hey, did Keith mention going out for drinks tonight?”

“Briefly. Last week,” Lance confessed with a smile. “Why?”

“We’re planning on heading to my apartment after this,” Lotor said, drawing Lance’s attention back to him. In all their rambling, Lance found _plenty_ of time to observe the guy—the one who had to be the youngest out of all of them aside from Keith. He was probably around twenty-five, with a striking Italian-esque facial structure and even tan. He had lengthy silver hair, and vampiric canines that made Lance want to punch a wall when Lotor nudged Keith in the arm and said, “Yesterday you said you were still in. Same goes?” 

Surprisingly, Lance had an _excellent_ pokerface when he wanted to. _Yesterday?_ He and Keith barely ever spoke in general, and suddenly Keith was talking to a guy in his _nude modeling class_ about getting drinks with the others? 

He’d save the screaming for _after_ everyone went to class.

“Uh, yeah, I think so,” Keith said, and glanced over at Lance. “You in?” 

“Yeah, sounds good.” _No, definitely_ not _good_. 

When the instructor called everyone in, Lance sad goodbye to everyone and went on his way to the Starbucks on the first floor. The entire time he stormed down the staircase, he couldn’t stop thinking about the look on Lotor’s face. And how he nudged Keith like they were bros or something? Who did he think he was? It all caused his fists to clench at his sides before he stopped outside of Starbucks with a groan, pushing his hands over his face and muttering to himself, “You’re being ridiculous. It’s probably nothing.”

“Ridiculous about what?” a girl asked, startling Lance as he stood at the open archway of Starbucks. He turned and found one of the workers clearing off a table before standing up and putting her hands on her hips. “Sorry—I just heard you mumbling to yourself.”

“N-Nothing. It’s fine,” he stammered out, but it was more of a squeak than anything. “Thanks for asking though.”

She smiled at him on her way back to the counter, and asked, “So what can I get ya?”

Lance was too frustrated to think clearly, so he said, “What would you recommend? I’m open to trying something new.”

She thought for a moment before asking if he’d be willing to pay four bucks for it. He said “Hell yeah,” and that was that. The Starbucks was rather dead, except for some guy in a suit sitting in the far corner, and later on some workers came down and bought some coffees before leaving for the night. Lance sat near the counter so he could chat with the girl while she made the drink. She was sweet, and turned out to be rather quiet. He couldn’t really blame her—there weren’t many people to talk to at this time of night. She probably got used to just listening to music while working in relative silence.

“—I mean, I know a lot of the workers in the offices at this building,” she said, “and we get a lot of cool artists to come by. We buy the artwork from the artists in the classes and display them.” Lance looked around the store and noted the different abstract paintings on canvases, acrylic landscapes, and he noted that they had the artists business cards mounted on the counter. 

His phone lit up on the tabletop, and he checked the name. 

  


**Shay is typing…**

**Snapchat from Shay:** _How’d it go? Did you meet the other people in the class?_

**Lance:** _Yeah, they seem nice_

  


“I saw you and another guy going up the stairs earlier,” the barista said. “Is he in one of the classes?”

“Yeah. A modeling class.”

“You two friends?” she asked, and he hesitated for a moment.

He sighed a little, but it didn’t stop his smirk from showing. “I dunno. We’ve sort of been dating, and he just introduced me as his boyfriend so I’m guessing we’re going steady,” he confessed with a laugh, and she giggled a little. “I mean, you’d call that official, right?”

“Putting a name to it, yeah, I’d say so,” she answered. “Is that him you’re talking to? I don’t mean to pry or anything. You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.”

Lance shrugged and said, “Nah, it’s one of his friends.”

  


**Shay:** _Wait, so did you meet Lotor?_

**Lance:** _Yeah, why?_

**Shay:** _Oh good I was wondering if he really is a douchebag._

_So is he? A douchebag?_

**Lance:** _I dunno I don’t really know the guy. But apparently he and Keith have been talking ??_

_I don’t really think you’re supposed to talk to people you don’t like._

**Shay:** _You know what they say—keep your friends close and your enemies closer._

  


“I’ve got to close up soon,” the girl said, and Lance looked up from his phone to see that the suit-guy left a while ago, and it was just the two of them. He stuffed his phone into his pocket and apologized for sticking around so late. “It’s no problem. I don’t mind—I had fun talking with you,” she said, smiling sweetly as Lance packed up his shit and slung his backpack over his shoulder. “Maybe I’ll see you next week if you happen to accompany your boyfriend again.”

Lance laughed and said, “Yeah, that’d be fun. See you around.”

He felt weird taking the same spot as before—just outside of the Starbucks entrance—so he wandered the building for the last half hour or so of Keith’s class. He got to the first floor before the class let out, and stood around there while he listened to their voices and laughter echoing around the stairwell. He stuffed his nervous hands into his pockets as Coran swung around the stairs and jumped them two at a time. The middle-aged man was a pure child, apparently. Luxia was laughing after him, taking it slower as she descended with grace—she had un _reasonably_ long hair that fell like a curtain around her entire torso, and showed wiry grey streaks here and there.

“Coran, you _absolute_ child,” she chastised him. “I _swear_ she was going to throw you out when we were doing yoga today.”

Coran leapt onto the first floor, hands on his hips as he strolled towards Lance and said, “She’s exaggerating. I am a perfect adult, mind you.” He laughed, and swayed a little when Coran slung his arm over Lance’s shoulders and shook him. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he answered as Keith passed by Luxia and Coran to stand by his side. Lotor had been walking beside him, and slowed as they reached the group. He had a triangular shape to his upper body—broad shoulders, narrow waist, and when he put his hands on his hips it just made him look all the more intimidating.

He led the way out of the building and across the street to the parking structure the instructor said they had access to. Lance’s eyes were trained on Lotor even when he wasn’t trying to focus on anything. It wasn’t until everyone started to veer off to their own cars that Lance realized that he was staring _furiously_ at the back of Lotor’s head. 

Keith pulled him by the sleeve and nodded in the direction of Nyma’s moped. “C’mon, this way,” he said, and spared a glance at Lotor and a subtle wave. “We’ll meet you at the front.”

“S’kinda cold out,” Lotor commented, gesturing to the moped they came on. “Want me to give you a ride?”

“Thanks, but it’ll be fine,” he replied with a killer smile that Lance realized almost instantly was plastic. Something about the subtlety of it—the sassy undertones that only Keith was capable of—made Lance snort a little as they turned towards the moped and Keith unzipped his athletic bag to take out his beanie. “What?” Keith asked.

“Nope. Nothing. Nothing at all,” Lance said, still giggling to himself as he discretely looked over at where Lotor slid into the driver’s seat of what looked like an expensive car. “You really want to go to _his_ place?”

“S’not like anything’s gonna happen when you’re there, so I’m cool with it,” he said, and Lance flushed a little at the thought. Was he… going on Keith Bodyguard Duty? He didn’t mind that one bit, and the fact that Keith somehow maneuvered this unbeknownst to Lance was just… impressive. 

“You totally planned this,” Lance laughed, climbing onto the moped behind him. 

“Yup. Hope you don’t mind,” Keith snickered, elbowing Lance in the stomach before starting up the engine. 

Lance muffled his laughter against Keith’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around Keith’s torso before lifting his chin up. “Is this okay?” he asked, and Keith shrugged. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well I didn’t say ‘ _no_ ,’” he said, pushing them forward into the parking garage.

“Okay, that’s not how that works. Straight up, ‘yes’ or ‘no,’” Lance said, and pressed his face to Keith’s shoulder again, as they idled behind Luxia’s car. The fabric of his jacket smelled like… cooking spices. Like basil and sage and cologne made of it. It reminded Lance of the house Keith lived in, and the yellow of the kitchen and the time they ate peas and banana bread on the floor with everyone else at the Co-Op. Maybe Keith wore the same cologne then too—

Lance felt like he was thinking too much about cologne lately. 

“Well now I’m all warm so stay there,” Keith muttered when Lance pulled away to clasp onto the handle behind him. They started moving again, and Lance laughed a little when he saw how red the tips of Keith’s ears were. Keith pointedly tugged his beanie over them when they got to a red light.

They followed Lotor’s car away from the parking structure, and across town towards the more northern side of the city, curving towards the river. Lance wasn’t sure if Keith was feeling the same way as him, but… apartments around here were _expensive_. They saw Lotor’s arm reach out the driver’s side, pointing to the next upcoming apartment structure, and Lance’s jaw dropped. Riverside. Massive windows. Modern exterior complimented with fancy decorate flowerpots and exotic plants in the lobby. After they all parked and Lotor disappeared into the apartment structure’s resident parking lot, Keith and Lance wandered into the lobby where Lotor said to wait. Coran and Luxia followed soon after, oo-ing and ah-ing and making pleasant comments about the complex. 

“I haven’t lived in a place like this since I was younger and more beautiful,” Luxia said with a laugh. “And when I had a husband.”

“You aren’t _that_ old,” Coran told her, crossing his arms.

“I know,” she laughed, nudging him with a wink and saying, “I’ve been around town. Used to live in New York, ya know.”

“No kidding?” Lance said, eyes wide. “What was it like?”

“Expensive. And it smelled like sewage everywhere.”

“Like Lake Michigan, huh?” Keith commented, hands on his hips. “Been there before. Used to live in Chicago, which is why I know what Lake Michigan smells like.” Luxia laughed, swatting him on the arm and saying that she’d been to Chicago before for art exhibitions. That was before, when she “used to _be_ an artist rather than the art itself. We’ll see where this takes me.”

One of the doors opened a little ways from where they congregated in the foyer. Lotor pushed the door open wider and gestured for them all the come through. Coran had his athletic bag with him, and it wasn’t until Lance heard something clinking around that he realized where all the alcohol was. Keith and Lance trailed behind them all, and Lance leaned towards him and asked, “Wait, so are you even legally able to drink?”

“No, and neither are you,” he laughed, nudging him discretely in the rib. Lance offered a toothy grin that just earned him a hand to the face to keep him quiet. “Don’t pretend you weren’t drunk at the party we met at.”

“If I wasn’t I never would have asked you out,” he countered, and Keith pouted at him before turning his attention elsewhere with a haughty scoff. 

When they got to the floor Lotor’s apartment was on, they were all in discussion about what movie to play that night. Lotor swiped his card in front of the door, laughing, “I am _not_ paying for romantic comedies.”

“Agreed,” Keith pitched in, and Lance gasped a little.

“But _Twenty-Seven Dresses_ —! Or _You’ve Got Mail_!” he whined, and Coran snapped his fingers at him, eyebrows up as he pegged Keith with those crystal blue eyes.

“That’s a classic,” he said. “ _You’ve Got Mail_ is the good stuff.”

“Not as good as the original _Martian_ movie…” Luxia coined in, each shake of her head sending her curtain of hair swishing to and fro. “And not to mention any movie by David Lynch.”

“Any movie by David Lynch _pleeease_ ,” Keith cried out as he sauntered over the threshold with Lance following him in, taking in the setting of a classic modern apartment with all the features of luxury—the flatscreen television, the plush leather sectional, the marble island counter dividing the living room from the kitchen… but it didn’t change the fact that it was totally a bachelor pad. There were movie posters hung up across the white walls, not a plant in sight that wasn’t dead, and an assortment of gaming systems underneath the television. 

Lance stopped by the sectional where Keith collapsed without a speck of hesitation. He glanced over at where Coran fist-bumped Lotor and said, “Nice place, son. You do well for yourself?”

“Yeah. I’m just interested in trying new hobbies,” he explained, referencing the fact that he was in a nude modeling class. _Yeah, that’s_ totally _a normal hobby to take up when you’re bored_ , Lance mused bitterly, eyes following Lotor as he passed them to grab glasses from his cabinet. 

“Thoughts on Stanley Kubrick?” Luxia asked, hands on her hips as she addressed Keith, standing before the couch cushions he was lounging on. 

“I haven’t seen many of his films,” Keith confessed. “Just _Clockwork Orange_. Not exactly a movie to watch with friends, ya know.”

“What about _Space Odyssey_?” she suggested, glancing at Lance, Coran, and Lotor before Keith shrugged, indifferent. 

“I like sci-fi, so sure,” Lance said, and so the decision was made. While Coran played the part of bartender, Lotor helped set up the television so Luxia could find the movie, which left Lance to drop down onto the couch beside Keith and kick his feet up on one of the cube-shaped ottomans.

The lights dimmed overhead, and since it was already pitch black outside, they left the windows open without blinds. They couldn’t see much beyond the balcony railing anyway, aside from the structures across the river with neon lights and street lamps over cobbled sidewalks. The only reason Lance knew that was because he asked Lotor if he was allowed out on the balcony, so he went to check it out and reported back, “You can see _everything from here!_ ”

“Yeah, except the actually city skyscrapers—which isn’t that bad, actually,” Lotor reported, causing Lance to turn around and see him stepping out onto the balcony with him. Standing next to people with that kind of body-builder physique just seemed to remind Lance that he was just some scrawny nineteen-year-old freshmen in college. He looked and felt awkward most of the time, while Lotor just seemed… to know what he was doing.

He handed Lance one of the glasses Coran prepared. “What do you do for a living that lets you live… well, _here?_ ” Lance asked.

“Just business stuff. I travel a lot, usually, but for the next few months I’ll be around here more. I initially came from Portland so… home sweet home.” He raised his glass to that and took a sip. It was bitter cold on the balcony, but the view was _definitely_ worth it. Lance didn’t even care that it was a cloudy night—they could still see relatively far across the river due to the radiant glow of the city. They could see Washington from here. 

“What year are you?” Lotor asked. “At Arnette.”

“Uh, freshmen, actually,” he confessed, and winced a little when he realized that just sort of… blew the cover on him being legally able to drink. The glass was so cold that it stuck to his fingers—or maybe that was the oncoming winter effect.

Lotor laughed, seeming to know _exactly_ what Lance was thinking. “Don’t worry about it. It’s kinda cold out—let’s head inside.”

“Yeah! Shut the door before we all die of hypothermia,” Luxia called out from the couch, kicking her legs up dramatically and dropping them onto a section of the couch. Keith was so slouched that the soft leather of the cushions seemed to envelope him. His hair, shirt, and pants all blended into the color of the couch. He was watching Lance and Lotor wander back in before Lotor pulled the door closed.

“Sorry about that. You guys should check out the view later,” Lotor told them, but Luxia waved him off with a blunt, “ _Bah_ , I’ve seen it before.”

“You’re just showing off,” Keith told her, knees falling to the side as Lance dropped down beside him. The couch made them sink slowly together, and Lance figured if Keith wanted to move, he would. But for now… they were comfortable.

“I lived in _New York_ , hun—I know what a city looks like at night,” she argued, and Coran barked out a laugh. He sunk onto the couch beside her, clinking his glass against her’s before holding one out to Keith. Lotor slipped between the two of them and collapsed with a sigh, remote in hand and a soft grin on his face.

“Well, that must mean you appreciate cities regardless, huh? Or else you wouldn’t live in the city,” he said, glancing over at Luxia who scoffed with a shrug, muttering for him to turn the movie on already, dammit.

Lance lounged back into his seat and sipped idly from his glass. It was sweet with a tangy aftertaste, and he would have downed all of it in one go if he hadn’t forced himself to ration that shit. Keith downed half of it within the first scene of the movie, and Lance tried his best not to look startled or worried or anything like that until Keith’s glass was completely empty and he passed it to Lance to put off to the side. He reached behind him to put it on the table pressed up to the back of the couch, covered with papers and magazines and _whatever_.

The speakers were loud enough for Lance’s voice to be masked by it. “You okay?” he asked Keith.

“Yeah, stop badgering me,” Keith whined back, pushing at Lance’s side. He took that as the sign to scoot away a bit, so he was on the cushion in the corner of the sectional, legs kicked out towards where Keith was sitting, arms crossed, with Lotor glancing at them out of the corner of his eye. It just made Lance bristle, wondering what Lotor was thinking when he glanced at Keith out of the corner of his eye like that. 

_Just calm down. It’s nothing_ , Lance told himself, forcing his eyes to the television screen even though he could tell every now and then that Keith was looking at him with a look on his face akin to a question, or maybe annoyance. He was trying to do _something_ , anyway, and Lance was sure of that. Whatever it was, Lance couldn’t tell through the dark in the room, or beyond the surround-sound speakers.

Eventually Keith gave up with subtleties and stared relentlessly at Lance until he finally looked over. Keith’s face was forever stoic, as always, but there was something intense about the way his eyes barely faltered. Lance gave a “What is it?” shrug. Keith leant on his hand towards Lance, but he didn’t go any farther. 

Lance scooted over, letting is feet fall onto the ground. Keith crawled over and crossed his legs, sitting next to Lance as though _yes, this was perfectly normal_. Just these few minutes of Keith being drunk and acting like this reminded Lance entirely of cats. Of course the cat would just sit there without asking for anything. Maybe implying it? Either way, Keith looked content, with his knee on Lance’s leg, and leant back into the squishy cushions beside him. Lance smirked at Keith and turned his attention back to the movie, only to realize that they’d been distracted _just_ long enough for Lance to completely lose track of the storyline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stupidly long chapters brought to you by a coLLEGE STUDENT WHO'S DONE WITH HER SOPHOMORE YEAR :O I'm approximately 10 minutes away from stuffing everything in a car and heading home, so I'll post again on Sunday or something. Who knows, really. I'd like to get to my usual schedule of a chapter a day next week. I haven't been able to do that much this semester.


	9. Make Lance Keith's Squish 2k17

“Come _insiiide_ and say hi to Shay…” Keith whined, pulling helplessly at Lance’s arm as he tried to make his escape. _God_. They barely managed to make it out of Portland alive with Lance driving, and he wasn’t sure if he could survive another showing of a suggestive photoshoot featuring Keith’s beautiful face. “She _wants you to_.”

“I really should be getting back to Kingsley. It’s, like, one in the morning— _Keith_ ,” he groaned, feet skidding before he practically fell into the motion of walking towards through the back door of the Co-Op. “Would she even be awake?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“ _Keith_. I can’t believe you’re like this with all your friends,” he muttered to himself. 

Keith was silent and pouting as he dragged Lance around the house. Lance figured it was as close to hand-holding as they’d get at this point—a death grip to his wrist, forcefully yanking on his arm. He staggered after Keith up a set of three stairs, and around the corner. He vaguely recognized the area, and how the weekend caused the house to be more alive than the day Lance visited Keith to eat banana bread. 

Most of the doors were open, filled with the murmuring of voices and laughter along the way. A few people greeted them along the way, but Keith completely bypassed them. Lance waved to them, smiling apologetically. 

The floorboards creaked underneath them as they wandered down the hall where Shay and Keith’s rooms were. Shay’s door was open, and someone was leaning in through the doorway, throwing her head back laughing, and providing Lance a momentary profile-view of her face, and the peaked curve of her nose. He _swore_ he recognized her from somewhere…

“Nyma!” Keith all but screeched, dropping Lance’s arm in favor of tackling her. He swung her into a hug from behind, arms wrapped around her shoulders as she giggled incessantly, reaching back and pinching his sides. 

She looked… like a _model_ , like she had everything in her life put together—the clear skin, the perfect hair, the on-point eyeliner. Her hair was infinitely longer than any girl Lance had ever encountered, and she had a distinctly bohemian style to her long patterned skirt and coverup. Her eyes flickered over to Lance, still smiling wide and showing off her perfectly straight teeth and her dimpled cheeks.

“Is this who I think it is?” she said as Keith pressed his cheek to the back of her shoulder and stared at Lance. With both of their eyes on him, all Lance could think about was that intimate photoshoot of the two of them together—Keith with his arms wrapped around Nyma like—

No. _Not_ today.

Shay peaked out of the room with a gasp, and squeezed past to grab hold of Lance. “Lance! You’re here!” she shrieked, reeling him in for a hug and herding him towards her room. Keith was still clinging to Nyma as Shay introduced Lance to her. 

Nyma lifted a hand and waved awkwardly. “Hey. I’d hug you, but I seem to have a leech on me.”

“Not nice,” Keith muttered, pressing his face into her hair.

“Did… he drive you two back?” she asked Lance as they wandered into Shay’s room, with her infinite fairy lights and tapestries. 

“I drove. Keith had a bit too much during the movie and the board game afterwards,” Lance explained. “And also, nice to meet you.”

“You as well,” she giggled, prying Keith’s hands off where his arms were slipping over her chest as he tried to keep purchase. “He gets like this when he’s drunk.”

“ _Nyma…_ ” Keith whined, and it was almost too adorable for Lance to even fathom. He sat on the bed and watched the show unfold as Keith tried to catch Nyma again. She swatted him on the head for it, shrieking and running to the far corner of Shay’s room. It required some maneuvering to get back there, and with the desk chair between them, Keith had no hopes of catching her. 

Shay hopped onto the bed next to Lance and said, “So how was it? What’s Lotor like?”

“I dunno. He’s, like… _subtly_ a douchebag. He keeps it well-hidden. I think it’s just his privilege getting to his head,” he admitted, watching as Keith came pouting to the bed and face planted into the comforter next to Lance. Shay tipped to the side to see if Keith was doing all right, but he just groaned and rolled over, scooting up onto the mattress, making furious noises the entire time.

Lance covered his mouth to keep from laughing, and looked over at Nyma, who was still standing in the corner, now recording a video of Keith’s shenanigans. Lance made a “I don’t know what the fuck is going on” face to the camera as she zoomed in on him.

“Hey Lance,” Keith said, and when Lance looked down at him, he was startled to find Keith reaching a hand out to slap his arm. Keith closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, before opening them and meeting Lance’s eyes directly. “I want you to draw a picture of Nyma. She doesn’t think you painted the portrait of me.”

“Yeah, he put it up in one of the hallways, the bastard,” Nyma said from the corner. “I figured he got an app or something that turns a selfie into, like, an impressionist painting or whatever.”

“It’s not _impressionist_. I call it _a burst of color_ , thank you,” Lance argued, and glanced over at where Keith was giving him his best serious face, which… happened to be most of the faces he gave everyone. Lance sighed and looked over at Nyma. “Do _you_ want me to draw you? I mean, a lot of people don’t like to see themselves drawn because it contradicts their own personal image of themselves, but…?” 

Nyma shrugged lazily and wandered around the desk again, coming to join them on the bed. “Clearly Keith won’t stop staring at you until you do draw me. So… sure. Why the hell not? You got a pencil and paper, Shay?”

“Sure!” she piped up, rustling through everything on her desk to grab what looked like an old, used sketchbook. She went on the hunt for some of her old drawing pencils, and came back with a tin of several missing ones, and others so used that they only took up half the size of their metal slots. Lance sorted through them and pulled out an H2 and a B4 pencil, and set to work from there. 

Nyma took to sitting against one of the tapestries, near the head of the bed. Keith sat directly next to Lance, leaning on his shoulder regardless of when Lance stuck his elbow out to get the right angle of the pencil against the page. Shay sat on his other side, observing the process. Music was playing off of her laptop speakers, and as he got into the drawing, his head bobbed and swayed from side to side, eliciting a soft grin from Nyma whenever he looked up to study her.

The lighting was soft on all angles, disrupted by the greenish fabric of the tapestry. Despite all the pressure from his professors not to blend with his fingers, he did anyways, and within minutes of shading, the pad of his index finger was grey, and the side of his palm was dirtied with pencil lead. 

Eventually Keith moved away from Lance in favor of laying on his stomach and playing on his phone. Shay stayed, though, and divided her attention between her laptop and Lance’s work. He was nearly done when Shay told Nyma, “It’s looking _really_ good. Make sure you sign it, Lance.”

“Ha! Yeah, sure thing,” he laughed, rubbing his finger underneath Nyma’s cheekbones before going in with the sharpened tip of a H4, and detailing her eyelashes, the hairs of her slim eyebrows, and the texture of the slight tiredness underneath her eyes. Her darkened irises were mostly pupil due to the dimness of the room, and the shadows of her brow were soft, dipping into the form of her subtle, undefined bridge of her nose. She had wide eyes, and therefore, a wide nose, and her lips were round with a minimal groove underneath her nose. She had a flat cupid’s bow, and a natural curve to her lips, as if she was amused.

He signed his name in the corner after shading in her shirt, and handed it to her. “There. How’s that?”

Nyma stared at it for a while, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to search for the words to describe how she felt. Her reaction. Whether or not she approved. Lance grew nervous as the seconds ticked by before Nyma finally turned her eyes up to him and said, “This is _really_ good. I mean, I know next to nothing about drawing, but… this is me! This is totally _me_ in drawing form! Do I get to keep it?” 

“Really? You like it?” Lance said, startled as Nyma nodded enthusiastically. 

“ _See_. Told you he’s good,” Shay said, sticking her tongue out at Nyma. The blonde girl gawked at her, and lashed out to shove her by the arm. 

“The fuck should I know! I’d never met him before now—I had a right to be suspicious!” she argued, and leant back with her arms folded, glare softening as she looked over at where Keith was face-first into Shay’s pillows. “He’s out for the count. You planning on heading back soon? You live in Kingsley, right?” she asked Lance.

“Uh, yeah. But I’d feel bad just leaving,” he confessed with a wince. They all studied Keith for a moment, in his sleeping beauty, messy bun letting baby hairs fall against his neck, sticking up on the pillows and all. He had a hand tucked under his head, the other falling off the bed. 

Nyma lowered the drawing down, and glanced over at Shay. Lance sighed, scratching the back of his neck before sliding off the side of the bed. “But yeah, I need to get back to Kingsley eventually. I could carry him over to his room?” he suggested. 

“Sure, I could unlock the door for you,” Shay suggested, climbing off the bed after Lance, plucking up Keith’s keys where they fell onto her comforter. 

Lance gingerly rolled Keith over as Shay went to go unlock the door. Keith groaned a little, muttering, “What time is it…?” Nyma snorted from next to him, and Lance smiled to himself. 

“Time for bed. I’m just gonna carry you over,” he said, and draped Keith’s arm over his shoulders. Keith seemed to give up any strength to argue, and simply let Lance wedge his arms underneath Keith’s knees and his back. He lifted Keith from the bed and maneuvered out of the room and down the hall where Shay held the door for Lance.

“Make sure he drinks some water. I think it’s on his desk,” Shay said, and Lance thanked her before she left and closed the door as quietly as she could.

The Christmas lights were on, which provided a dim glow throughout the red-tinted room, with its white walls and curtains. Lance laid Keith on the bed and went to go retrieve the water bottle. Keith laid there, floppy and half-asleep. “I think… you’re hanging out with Pidge tomorrow? I don’t know when but if it’s in the morning, don’t sleep in too late,” Lance warned. “She gets bitter about punctuality.”

“Good to know,” Keith murmured, pushing up onto his elbow to drink. He took several long gulps before taking in a breath, and letting it out. “And sorry for not telling you about that. I figured… I wouldn’t be super entertaining after hanging out with Pidge. I get tired out and… quiet, I guess.”

“That’s fine. If you want to chill on my futon or something I’d be fine with that,” Lance confessed, and smiled a little when Keith scoffed. “Seriously. You could fall asleep on my futon any time. Or just sit there in general and I could just… draw the crap out of you. You wouldn’t even have to do anything.”

Keith stayed quiet for a moment, eyes focusing on the mouthpiece of his water bottle before asking, “Could I just do shit on my phone or whatever?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Then you’ve got a deal. I’ll come over after hanging out with Pidge,” he said, smiling as he held out a fist for Lance to bump. 

Lance left and closed the door quietly behind him before heading out of the Co-Op. He said goodbye to Shay and Nyma, who were now reclining on Shay’s bed with their feet in the air for some odd reason he never asked about. Nyma sat up and waved to him, saying, “Hey, I’ll see you around! Shay gave me your Snapchat, so keep your eye out for me!”

“Also, thanks for taking care of Keith. I really appreciate it, and he probably does too. You’re beautiful on the inside, Lance!” Shay said, flopping her arm to the side so she could point at him.

“As if I’m not beautiful on the outside?” he countered, hand on his hip as he mockingly glared at her.

“I never said that,” she laughed, heavy brown hair dripping off the side of the bed as she leaned towards him, half-falling. “You’re beautiful on the inside _and_ outside.”

“That sounds like an impossible feat. I doubt Lance is capable of it,” Nyma said, and winked at the shocked look on Lance’s face. He barely knew this woman—how could she be so savage to someone she barely even met that same day? “Whatever. Have a nice night Lance!”

He gawked at her, and when he was finally able to gather up his bearings, he shook a finger at her and said, “Just for that, I’m not accepting your Snapchat request. This fight isn’t over with.”

“This fight was done the second you walked in. I’ve got you down to a ’T,’ pretty boy. I know more about you than you might thing,” she accused, falling back down and kicking her legs up alongside Shay’s. “Pidge tells me _everything_.”

Lance couldn’t even function correctly as he stormed out of the Co-Op. He had two things on his mind: 1) how adorable Keith was, and 2) the fact that he was now obligated to kick Pidge’s ass. 

  


  


“Seriously. How the fuck did you get both Keith _and_ Nyma’s Snapchats before me?” Lance wondered aloud, only half-serious in demanding an answer. 

They were at brunch, surrounded by the guys and girls on their floor, and the #1 RA Dad in Kingsley. As Lance groaned over his breakfast while Pidge blinked innocently at him, everyone else was floundering over the fact that Shiro went on an actual date. It was a goddamn, fucking _miracle_ , wasn’t it? 

Pidge took a long sip of her coffee before saying, “I just asked Keith for it. I dunno. He mentioned her and I was curious, so we’ve been talking.”

“Since _when?_ ”

“Since two days ago or something like that. I don’t really know—not that long though, I can tell ya that,” she told him with a tip of her mug before going in and scarfing down several bites of pancake. “And anyway, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Aren’t they best friends though?”

“Sorta, yeah. She’s Keith’s squish,” she said, and when Lance remained quiet with a dumfounded look on his face, she sighed. “You don’t know what a squish is. Obviously.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. You’re just severely uninformed about asexual culture, no big deal. It’s not like they _teach_ you this shit in _school_ or anything. Gotta make everything heteronormative in health class, don’t we?” she said, swinging her fork around before dropping her hands altogether. “Whatever. A squish is just… someone you want to be super good friends with. It’s like… you’re friends, but you want them to be ‘more your friend.’ Does that make sense?”

“…Not really,” he admitted, wincing. “So, like, he has a crush on her?”

“ _No_. No, it’s not a crush. A crush suggests that he’s pining for romantic affection. He doesn’t want anything romantic from her. He just… really appreciates her as a person. So they’re, like, really good friends. He’s comfortable around her. That’s all there is to it,” she explained. “I don’t think I have any squishes, but Nyma’s good squish material, lemme tell ya.”

“Why’s that? And if she’s such good friends with Keith, shouldn’t I, like… be on her good side?” he asked, frowning as Pidge shrugged and continued to eat. “ _Pidge_ , c’mon. Why’s she such squish material and I’m not?”

“I’m not saying you aren’t. All I’m saying is that Nyma and Keith have a close relationship, and you don’t want to fuck that up by acting all jealous of her,” Pidge said, and Lance retracted from the table a bit, raising an eyebrow. “ _What?_ ”

“You make it sound like there’s a _reason_ to be jealous.”

“C’mon, don’t act like that. Now you’re just making it weird.”

They stared each other down over the dining table. Pidge had her glasses pushed loosely up on her nose, eyes narrowing at Lance as he hovered over his waffle, furiously scowling at her. It wasn’t until Shiro snapped his fingers in front of them that they finally put an end to the charade. “C’mon guys, knock it off. You two look murderous,” Shiro said.

“Yeah, no one would want to sit at our cool table with you two lookin’ like gargoyles,” Flerona said, and Nora snorted from beside her, snickering at them as Pidge stood up a bit as if to fling a spoonful of syrup at her. 

The girls shrieked, shying away from Pidge as Shiro yelped out, “ _Pidge_! Don’t you dare!” He reached across the table and snatched her spoon from her.

Pidge remained bitter about Lance’s inability to comprehend “squishes,” whatever those were. At this point shouldn’t Lance be considered a squish? For some odd reason the title “boyfriend” was less compelling, but he wasn’t sure why. As such, he spent the day during study breaks studying up on all his bookmarks surrounding asexuality. Pidge helped him create the library of bookmarks on his web browser, and there were several bits about squishes he just… hadn’t… gotten to yet. School was still a thing! He didn’t have time for this shit 24/7!

After dinner, while Shiro and Lance were lounging in their dorm working on homework, someone came knocking at their door. Shiro got up, assuming it would just be one of the kids down the hall, so Lance went back to sketching until Shiro let out a startled, “Keith! What are you doing here?”

Lance perked up, leaning back on his desk chair to see Keith standing there, blinking in surprised at seeing Shiro. “Uh, hey Shiro. I’m just… Lance said it was cool if I just chilled here for a bit. Is that okay?”

Shiro glanced back at Lance, who put on his best “Yup, I totally said that” face. Shiro held open the door wider, gesturing for Keith to enter. 

It was the first time Keith ever set foot in Lance’s room before, and as he wandered over to where Lance was at his desk, his eyes scanned all the sketches taped to the walls, and the posters, the photographs… everything on Lance’s colorful side of the dorm.

Shiro went to sit at his desk again, kicking back onto two chair legs. Lance studied him for a moment, as if gauging whether or not Shiro was _actually_ okay with this. Either way, Keith leaned over the post of Lance’s loft and pointed to one of the sketches on the wall. “Is this me?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah. One of the earlier sketches,” he confessed, plucking it off the wall so Keith could get a closer look. “I was just fixing up some exercises for another class.”

Keith dropped down onto the edge of the futon closest to Lance’s desk, and the light from his lamp. “Cool. Keep working on it—I’ll just be sitting here,” he said, and promptly switched to his phone after plucking his earbuds out. Shiro had instrumental music playing so they could concentrate. 

After Lance finished up working on his homework, he moved over to sit on the floor near Keith. His boyfriend was now lounging across the entire futon, legs kicked out and head elevated by a random pillow Lance’s Ma insisted he keep. Keith glanced over at Lance as he moved, and stationed himself with his sketchbook. “You want me to change positions?” Keith asked, about to adjust himself.

“No, whatever’s comfortable is fine,” he replied, flipping to an empty page. It was his larger format sketchbook—the sort he used for the still life drawing. And now that that was over with, and they moved on to learning basic anatomy, he hadn’t added anything to his sketchbook in almost a week.

Keith relaxed back down, watching Lance as he roughly sketched out Keith’s form on the futon. By the time Lance went in for the details, Keith was looking at his phone again, and letting the glow of it illuminate the contours of his cheeks, his nose, gleaming on his eyes. His long hair was loose, and fell back from his forehead and onto the pillow. He was wearing a simple tee under a flannel, and Lance drew in folds of the fabric, and mapped out the pattern with ease. 

After half an hour, Keith murmured, “Pidge said you two got in an argument today.”

“I wouldn’t say _that_ …”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” he said, quiet, almost a whisper. Lance’s pencil hesitated on the page, and he looked up to find that Keith’s cheeks darkened a fraction, and he met Lance’s gaze for only a second before turning back to his phone.

  


That Monday morning, Lance was watching a video on it from his phone. He dropped his bag next to his chair in lecture, flopped onto his chair, and sank down to get comfortable. Out of the corner of his eye he watched a familiar, large fella take the seat beside his. Lance glanced briefly over at him, saying, “Hey man, what’s up?”

“Not much,” Hunk replied, sighing as he dropped down into his chair and glanced over at what Lance was watching. “Didn’t know you were into Youtubers and shit.”

“Not really—well, a little,” he murmured, rubbing sleep from his eyes before sniffing and meeting Hunk’s gaze. “I’m dying.”

“Oh aren’t we all buddy?” he said, reaching over and clapping Lance on the shoulder. “You’ll make it. Why are you dying today, though?”

“I didn’t sleep much,” he confessed, slouching across his desk, propping his cheek up on his hand. “Watching videos and reading, mostly. I’m angry.”

“Why?”

“Because squishes seem more profound than, like, being in a relationship,” he explained, and Hunk hummed thoughtfully, scrubbing his hand over his chin. 

A moment of silence passed as Hunk digested this newfound information. When it was over, he cleared his throat and said, “So, uh, enlighten me. What’s a ‘squish?’”

“It’s, like… the best version of a best friend. You talk about everything with them, and you appreciate them so fuckin’ much it’s, like… unreal. It’s like a relationship without the tags or obligations of romance and shit. How is it possible to be that _open_ with someone?” Lance asked. “But it isn’t about just about being open with someone. I’ve been thinking about it all night. Like… why do we _have_ to show romantic affection? Is it for our own sake? Is it for our significant others’ sakes?”

Hunk gave him another pat on the shoulder. “Don’t think about it too hard, buddy. Seems like you’re about to crash and burn if you keep at it. This sounds like some deep two AM shit. Can’t really comprehend it at nine in the morning.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right…” Lance sighed, and lazily dug around his backpack for his water bottle. 

As he took a few sips, Hunk opened up his notebook and said, “I’m honestly worried about midterms and shit. I already have one coming up in another class and if I don’t start studying now I might as well sign off on an F, ya know?”

“I hear ya.”

They were quiet for a while, before Hunk said, “You seem like a night owl, and I study better with other people around. Would you want to have a study session one of these nights at Mayhew?”

Lance considered it for a moment, but he already knew two things: 1) he seriously needed to study and 2) he’d be up until one AM anyway. And honestly, of the times he spent walking back from the Co-Op, he had to admit that a late night walk seriously did wonders for his ability to sleep at night. And that, coupled with a bit of cherry juice… he’d be set and ready to go.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Mind if I bring a friend along? She’s up late every night anyways,” Lance asked, and Hunk was all for it. 

Lecture started, so they didn’t finalize plans until afterwards. He got Hunk’s information on where to meet up and what-have-you, so they were set for a study session later that week. Lance hadn’t been to Mayhew since Welcome Week, so he figured that was at least _one_ reason for him to agree to it. He had to expand his limits _somehow_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Mother's Day to all you mothers out there, and also the ones who aren't there. Wow, that's ambiguous. Whatever.
> 
> I haven't been able to write anything all weekend, but thankfully I had this chapter ready to go it just needed editing. I'll update again on Tuesday, or Monday night! Who knows! It'll be a surprise, yay! XD


	10. Let The Mayhem Commence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Battle Of The Sexes feat. Shay and Pidge vs Hunk and Shiro

In all honesty, Lance assumed Pidge would be up for a study session. So it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t predict her ultimate dropout. And here Lance thought they were _friends_ , but _whatever_. The people closest to him end up being the ones to betray him, that’s just how the world goes. He didn’t know Hunk well enough to feel entirely comfortable spending a few hours in a quiet room with him. The guy was a complete mystery—! Well, except for the fact that they spent two hours a week in the same lecture hall…

So yeah, he wasn’t a _complete_ mystery, but _still_.

  


**Lance:** _Hey, you wanna study together today at 3?_

**Keith:** _Can’t. Im at work._

**Lance:** _Boo, you whore_

_Whatever it’s fine._

**Keith:** _You’re lucky I picked up on that Mean Girls reference or else you’d be dead._

**Lance:** _So you ARE cultured_

**Keith:** _I’m going to maim you on Saturday 7 o clock sharp_

_Don’t be late._

  


  


**Lance is typing…**

**Lance:** _Shay help Keith’s going to kill me_

**Shay is typing…**

**Shay:** _What’d you do this time?_

**Lance:** _ME? I didn’t do anything_

_He’s just being a meanie and threatened me_

**Shay:** _I’m sure he’s just showing his affection for you_

_Maybe he means to smother you with his love_

**Lance:** _Ha. good one._

_And by good I mean terrible_

**Shay:** _I thought it was good ;)_

**Lance:** _You wouldn’t happen to want to study together?_

_I maaaay have accidentally agreed to study with a guy I barely know_

_Kinda scared. Halp._

**Shay:** _Only you Lance… Only you…_

_And I dunno. When?_

**Lance:** _Like, in an hour at Mayhem_

_Shit *Mayhew_

_Eh, it works_

**Shay:** _Autocorrect knows ALL_

_And… I might be a bit late but sure? I guess?_

**Lance:** _YOU’RE A LIFESAVER THANK YOU_

  


Lance fiddled with the strap of his backpack as he waited outside of Mayhew for Shay. It wasn’t quite three yet, but…usually he was a punctual guy. And he didn’t want Shay to stress about this. Did she know where she was going? Would she find Mayhew all right? 

_Of course she will—she’s a_ sophomore _, not a freshmen like you_ , Lance reprimanded himself as he tapped his foot on the concrete steps. He sat down, pushing his hands against his knees and wondering why the hell he felt so jittery about this. Sure, he and Shay weren’t the _greatest_ friends, but he knew her better than Hunk, and… it was always easy hanging out with her at the Co-Op. Why would _now_ be any different?

He saw her turn the corner of the building next to Mayhew, and he jumped up to meet her halfway. She waved excitedly at him, rocking a pair of black overall pants, and a red-striped shirt. “Hey Shay. I like your outfit,” he said, accepting the high five she held out for him.

She grabbed onto his hand and swung it down to their sides, elbowing him in the arm. “Thanks—it’s surprisingly comfortable. I thrifted this jacket, and I’ve even got iron-ons!” She twisted around a little to show him the back of her jacket. It was a heavy jean jacket with a plaid felt interior lining, and she flaunted it like she made it herself.

They chatted away as they climbed the steps leading up to Mayhew’s front lobby. He messaged Hunk, and they waited at the couches for him to swing by and pick them up. Shay delved into a story about a project she was currently working on in lab, and they occupied themselves with that until Lance recognized Hunk coming around the corner of the east wing of Mayhew dorms.

“Hey Lance!” he said, all cheery and all smiles. He clapped Lance on the back as he came close, and gestured to Shay. “You must be Shay. You can call me Hunk.”

She laughed a little, her expression confused. “Um, okay. Where’d you get that nickname?”

“Isn’t obvious,” he jested, motioning to his sly, joking grin. Lance rolled his eyes, elbowing Hunk in the arm.

“Now _that_ was cheesy. Where are we heading?”

Hunk led the way, and started casual smalltalk with Shay to get the basics down. It started along the lines of, “So have you been to Mayhew before?” and ended around, “I’m an environmental science major. I have a lab report that’s due at the end of today, so I figured I’d come join you guys to work on it.”

“Lab reports are the _worrrst_ ,” Hunk groaned as they stomped up the stairs to the second floor of the dorm wing. “I wonder if Keith’s finished his yet. We’re lab partners.”

Shay hummed thoughtfully, and glanced back at Lance to say, “You never mentioned that he knows Keith.”

Lance shrugged, grinning. “I dunno. I figured you knew, I guess. Does Keith talk about his classes a lot?”

“Just to complain. I guess he doesn’t have anything to complain about with Hunk here,” she said, jabbing her thumb in Hunk’s direction. The big guy laughed, and confessed that he tried not to get on peoples’ bad sides whenever possible. Lance agreed—Keith didn’t seem like the type of guy he’d want to make an enemy out of. The chances that Keith was capable of breaking Lance’s nose were greater than he cared to admit. And after spending all that time drawing Keith… Lance knew that the size of those biceps were honed at a gym.

And it wasn’t like Lance _hadn’t_ thought about drawing Keith in the nude—the guy was taking classes on nude modeling, after all. It was a rational thing to think about!

… Right?

Which _obviously_ meant he had to consider Keith’s muscle mass, his physique, the structure of his body underneath those baggy sweatshirts, flannel cover-ups, and that arguably _awesome_ leather jacket he wore in the cold weather. Those trips on Nyma’s vespa certainly told Lance how much those baggy clothes covered up, which meant a lean, narrow waist and bony hips—but that didn’t necessarily mean Keith was all skin and bones, so…

That was all for another time.

He was thinking so deeply about it that by the time his mind came back into focus, and his hand stopped in the midst of mapping out the general shapes of Keith’s body, he realized that he was sat in the midst of an argument. Hunk had brought them to an empty study room on the second floor, but now it was filled with he and Shay talking aggressively at one another—and whether or not either of them heard the other was up for debate. 

By the time Lance dialed in on it, he gathered the general gist of things the moment Shay jabbed a finger at Hunk and said, “Whatever. It’s not like you’d understand—sometimes the offender doesn’t realize what they’ve done until they’re called out on it. It’s only natural for you to act out like this anyway. I bet you never thought you’ve done anything wrong in that regard, and the fact that I’m calling you out on it says as much.”

“I would _never do that!_ I’m just saying not _all_ frat guys… _do_ that!”

“You can’t even say it!”

“Because I don’t agree with it and it makes me uncomfortable!”

“So you think rape shouldn’t be talked about? Is that it?” Shay hissed at him. Hunk bristled, his shoulders bunching up and his lips drawn tight in anger. Lance’s heart rate picked up as he scrambled to stop the fighting.

“Whoa! Hey, why are we talking about this?” Lance demanded. “Not exactly a light topic to cover on a Wednesday night.”

Hunk remained tense, posture straight, and eyes on Shay as she huffed, still targeting Hunk with her threatening eyes. Honestly, Lance would be more or less terrified to be on the receiving end of that glare. “We were just talking about where I lived, and he got all offended about the signs we have up.”

“You have to admit, they’re a bit vulgar,” Hunk said.

“ _Rape_ is vulgar! There’s no way around it, so we might as well _let people know it_!”

“Right! But is it the efficient way of going about stopping frats from raping people? All I’m saying is that there could be other ways to get the message across. Not everything is about… _big words_ and crude visuals!” Hunk insisted, and Lance was so sure Shay was about to fling the table at him. 

What completely threw Lance off kilter was the fact that Shay was _capable_ of looking so threatening. Up until this point, she’d been a gentle, curious friend whom Lance saw infrequently when he went to the Co-Op. She was the type of girl he suspected to find reading books in a _greenhouse_ or something—not starting fights with guys who may or may not be in a frat.

“The school refuses to do anything, and if they won’t listen, then the students should,” Shay said sharply, and proceeded to grab her laptop off the table and stuff it into her backpack.

“What are you doing?” Lance asked. “ _Shay—_ ”

She turned on him, face red and furious. “Sorry Lance. I just don’t associate myself with frat guys.” At that, she shot a furious look at Hunk before swinging her backpack onto her shoulders. 

“It’s dark out—be careful,” Hunk all but squeaked out as Shay stormed towards the door.

Before leaving, she turned, half-out of the door, and said, “That almost sounded sarcastic, _dickhead,_ ” before slamming the door behind her. 

Lance visibly flinched, a grimace coming to his face as he dared spare a glance at Hunk. The guy was still sitting up straight, his adrenaline probably still through the roof from the fight. He then slouched, defeated, and massaged a hand over his forehead. “ _Well_ … I didn’t expect _that_ to happen,” Hunk confessed, voice tired.

“I _swear_ she’s not usually like that. I’ve never seen her that angry before,” Lance insisted, but Hunk just shook his head, waving a hand dismissively. 

“No, it’s fine. Sometimes—I don’t know. I sometimes play devil’s advocate without meaning to. I’m _in_ a frat, but that doesn’t mean I condone… partying excessively and getting girls drunk to _sleep_ with them, you know? I’m in the fucking _engineering fraternity_. It doesn’t exactly sound like the place to have a wild night, unless physics sounds exciting to you,” he said with a hollow laugh. 

“Why didn’t you tell her that?” he asked.

“Because _she’s right_. I should’ve known I’d get shit like that when I joined a fraternity,” Hunk insisted, and leant forward over the desk. “And I doubt I’ll see her again, so don’t worry about it too much. My fault, not yours.”

Lance hardly seemed convinced. As they delved into their homework, he felt suspiciously guilty for the entire ordeal. Maybe if he hadn’t been drawing Keith, he would have been able to stop the argument from escalating to where it did. Whatever the case, Hunk was right—Lance wasn’t sure how to even broach the subject, let alone _fix it_.

Somehow, they seemed to forget about the fight with Shay, and by some miracle Lance found the two of them getting off topic and into a conversation about sports they played in high school. Apparently Hunk had been in football and rugby, and was amazed by Lance’s swimming history. He even went so far as to say, “ _Man_ , I’ve always wished I could get into swimming. I don’t exactly have the _body_ for it or anything.”

Lance cracked up and slapped his hands on the table. “Oh come on, _anyone_ can swim—ya don’t have to do it competitively.”

“I’ve always been competitive though.”

“Just in general, or sports-wise?”

“In general.”

Lance hummed thoughtfully, and studied the corner of his page that was riddled with mindless doodles. He flicked at the paper as he thought about swimming. _God_ , he missed swimming. He kind of missed high school if he was being completely honest. The swim team was comprised of all of his closest friends since elementary school—how could he _not_ miss them? They spent _far_ too much time together in general. Hell, they even shaved all their heads together for a swim event! If that didn’t say mildly-obsessive friendship, he wasn’t sure _what_ did. 

But whatever the case, he didn’t talk to them much anymore. They were all at different universities, preferably out of state for them. And sure, Arnette was a far distance from southern Oregon, but it was still _near_ home. They all just… wanted out of Oregon, and that was that. No looking back.

“I miss swimming,” Lance confessed quietly. “It was all all-year thing, basically. From practice to club to teaching little kids…”

“Yeah, I sorta wish there was a more organized football team that’s just for the hell of it,” Hunk admitted, propping his chin up on his hand. “You think they have a recreational swim team?”

“Yeah, but I’ve already missed, like, five of their meetings,” Lance confessed. “They started up two weeks into the school year.”

“So what?” he said. “You should do it. If you join the swim thing, I’ll do it too. It’s just for fun anyways.”

Lance was so excited about it that he found himself agreeing, throwing caution to the wind, forgetting about everything that happened no more than an hour ago. He realized the dilemma almost as soon as he left Mayhew late that night at one in the morning. It showed itself in the form of lingering guilt, as if expecting Shay to discard of him just because he associated with Hunk. 

_But Hunk’s a good guy!_ he told himself, but was reminded by the fact that, _Oh, right, Shay doesn’t think that. It’ll take more than “big words” to convince her of that_.

When spent the following afternoon explaining the problematic study date to Keith, who, subsequently, opted for that time to be their own spontaneous study date ( _Thanks for the_ warning _, Keith_ ). And since Lance spent so much time studying the previous night, he had nothing to work on. So, he was left to rambling while Keith absent-mindedly put together a powerpoint for a speech. 

As Keith copied and dragged images and words around, Lance sat beside him, fiddling with his multitool. He needed _something_ to do with his hands, especially when he was _this anxious_ and sleep-deprived. “I don’t know what to do. I feel like I should do _something_ if I plan on staying friends with Hunk. Like, I don’t know if I’ll see him next semester at all, so do I even bother making an effort?”

“I don’t know. Do you like hanging out with him?” Keith asked, clicking at the page, fingers flying swiftly across the keyboard. He had his head hunched forward, and with his hair in that mess of a bun, Lance could see the nodules of Keith’s spine. 

Lance had shit self-control—if that wasn’t obvious enough already, considering the evidence of it was littering his walls and notebooks with Keith’s face in it—so it only took a few seconds for him to reach over, finger extended. He pressed the pad of his index finger against a node of Keith’s spine, where it remained level with his sharp, tense shoulders. 

Keith’s shoulders were always tense, though, so Lance certainly didn’t cause Keith to tense any more than he already was. Instead, it prompted Keith to pause his work and slowly glance over at Lance, an eyebrow raised. When their eyes met, Lance’s cheeks went pink in an instant, and he retracted his hand. “I—uh, sorry,” he squeaked out, voice cracking as he tucked his hands against his chest.

“Um…” Keith murmured, and Lance wondered how it was possible for Keith to remain so chill all the time. Lance wasn’t sure if it was physically possible for him to avoid turning red at this moment. “That was… unexpected. Way to make things _weird_.”

“S-Sorry! I just—I couldn’t help myself,” he blurted out, and Keith threw his head back laughing. Lance’s face heated up even more, until his ears were red and his cheeks were pinker than before. “It isn’t funny, _Keeeith_!”

“It is _so_ funny,” he all but wheezed out. 

“I just—I don’t know! At home my siblings and I poke at each other all the time! I thought I broke the habit,” he confessed in a whine. Keith was still smiling like an idiot—or more specifically, in a way that made _Lance_ feel like an idiot. He had his chin propped up on his hand and everything, an expectant look in his eyes that said, “Yes, continue to make a fool of yourself.” 

Because Lance refused to give in, they ended up just staring at each other for a solid ten seconds before Keith’s own cheeks started to flush. He looked away and cleared his throat, pointedly turning back to his computer screen as he said, “Whatever, it’s fine. I don’t mind.”

Lance knew he shouldn’t press Keith’s buttons, but he did anyways. He reached over and pressed his thumb to Keith’s spine again, and Keith visibly shivered and straightened up. “ _Lance_ ,” he complained, and Lance had the audacity to _giggle_. “You little shit.”

“What?” Lance laughed, kneading his thumb beside Keith’s spine before asking, “Have you ever gotten a massage before?”

“Um, do I _look_ like the type of guy who accepts massages very often?” he said sarcastically, and Lance rolled his eyes, setting his multitool aside so he could scoot up closer on his knees, and bring both hands to Keith’s shoulders. “Seems like I can’t stop you.”

“Dude, it’s just because you have the worst posture ever. Your neck is probably screaming at you.”

“If my neck could scream at me, I’m sure we would have a bigger problem to deal with,” Keith murmured, most likely grinning to himself when Lance cracked up.

Lance pressed his thumbs into the tense muscle of Keith’s trapezius, moving gradually to rub the opposite sides of Keith’s spine. After a few moments of this, Keith went back to typing, letting his shoulders relax a little under the pressure of Lance’s fingers pushing in and releasing the stress in his muscles. 

They worked together like this, listening to Keith’s music play through the speakers of his laptop. Shiro wasn’t in the dorm since some kids down the hall—Lance was fairly positive it was Rollo and a few of the other guys—practically pleaded him to help them with their homework. Lance knew it was bullshit, since they would all just badger Shiro about this or that, and end up completely off topic and procrastinating endlessly. So it was just Lance and Keith with the dorm to themselves, and normally Lance would have been worried. This wasn’t like any of the times Lance and his significant other hung out at his house in southern Oregon—his siblings made it _hardly_ romantic or intimate. It was never just Lance and a guy or a girl. It was always him and his siblings, and he figured that was why he liked having Shiro around so often. The guy was a hermit, and Lance didn’t mind because it meant they spent a lot of time together, just studying and listening to music— _surviving college_.

Usually it was Lance and Keith with Shay or Shiro. Lance realized a little too late that… maybe the reason he didn’t feel awkward was because he wasn’t anticipating… _anything_. He didn’t expect Keith to have _expectations_ of him. Nothing had to happen, and that was _definitely_ a weight off Lance’s shoulders.

He rubbed his fingers against the back of Keith’s right shoulder in hard, pressing circles. Eventually he realized that Keith wasn’t even typing anymore, and just sat there, limp and relaxed. “So what did Shay say, exactly?” Keith asked, tipping his head back to see Lance clearly.

Lance hesitated in his massaging before picking it back up again, switching to Keith’s other shoulder. “I dunno. I was doodling and then suddenly they were exploding at each other. She, like, accused Hunk of raping people, or being _okay_ with it because he agreed to join a fraternity when they all sort of have that stigma. But Hunk would never do that! I mean, I don’t know the guy super well, but… Hunk would never do that. He’s just a cool guy to hang out with.”

“Shay can get pretty intense sometimes,” Keith said. “And she holds grudges.”

“Oh great, good to know,” Lance mumbled bitterly, holding a hand to the nook of Keith’s neck to hold him steady as he rubbed into his middle back. “I just have this… _feeling_ that they’d get along great! But I think the fact that Hunk’s in a frat just ruined that for Shay.”

“Don’t take it too personally,” Keith said, folding forward and leaning over his keyboard, “and don’t push it—with Hunk and Shay, I mean, not my back. _Shit_ , do you do this often?”

“You mean with every hot, single, nude model I find? Clearly,” Lance said sarcastically, and Keith pressed a hand to his mouth to keep from laughing too hard. “No, but my Ma likes getting massages. Teaching her sons and daughters how to massage makes the bill for it a _lot_ cheaper…”

“I’d imagine so. How much does a massage even cost, usually?” Keith asked, to which Lance muttered, “I don’t even want to know.”

  


  


“ _Man_ , Keith was right—you _are_ good at massaging,” Pidge practically moaned from the futon where they were sitting together. Lance rolled his eyes, and glanced at where Shiro sat backwards at his desk, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t even start with me, asshole. I’ve had back problems since I came out of the womb,” she snapped at Shiro, jabbing comically at him with her middle finger. 

“I didn’t even say anything,” Shiro insisted.

“ _Whatever_. I’m just glad that I can now exploit Lance’s weird secondary talent,” she confessed.

“Glad to know that I have _some_ use in this household,” Lance muttered, grinding his thumb against the knot at the base of her neck. He knew the skin there would be red at the end of this, but at least she’d feel infinitely better following the massage.

“Can we _please_ go eat now. I’m starving.” Shiro deadpanned, slumping over the back of his chair with his forearms supporting his chin.

“You are _not_ starving,” Pidge remarked.

“How can she still be this harsh when she’s getting a _back massage_?” Shiro demanded of Lance, who shrugged and insisted that he wasn’t getting into this with them. 

Either way, Pidge was prepared to fight Shiro on this whether he liked it or not. “A bad personality doesn’t always come from constant back pain, you dingus,” she snapped. “And _yes_ , I did just insult myself, but it was for the greater good.”

“And what greater good is that?”

“Showing up pricks like you who think they know everything,” she said, and pointedly turned away before brushing Lance’s hands off her back. “I think I’m good now. Let’s go eat—I’m _starving_.” At this, she swung off the couch and glared at Shiro, who looked completely and utterly baffled. 

Pidge marched straight to the door and strode through, hardly waiting for Lance to catch up. He scrambled off the couch and nearly tripped on the way to his desk to pick up his student ID card. “Why’s she so pissed at me?” Shiro asked as Lance was in the middle of stuffing his feet into shoes and shrugging on a sweatshirt.

“Hell if I know. Ask her yourself.”

“Yeah, maybe I would—if she wasn’t about to _bite my head off_ ,” he remarked, scowling at Lance.

Lance shrugged uselessly, saying, “Not my problem. I’ll meet you down there, yeah?”

Shiro muttered a disgruntled, “Sure, sounds good,” before Lance took off through the door and ran to catch up with Pidge. She was already at the stairwell, clamoring down the steps with a sense of urgency about her march. Eventually, Lance caught up to tug her by the back of her flannel coverup and say, “Hey, hang on—why are you being so pissy with Shiro?” 

“I’m _not_ ,” she countered, folding her arms pointedly as they meandered down the empty corridor to the dining hall. She scuffed her feet across the stripes on the carpet, and said, “I just—sometimes I bad vibes from people, and, well… _he_ was being snippy with _me_ first.”

“You were _both_ being… snippy,” Lance said, cringing at the word. Who used that these days? He shook his head a little, sighing, “Whatever. I just wanna know why everyone’s being pissy lately. I feel like the only person who _hasn’t_ been pissy is Keith. And that’s just because he doesn’t seem to care enough about shit to get mad at it! Which… I guess… that’s a simple way to go about life…” 

He pinched his lip, brows tensed in thought. Pidge shrugged, saying, “I just get this weird feeling that Shiro doesn’t like me. You get that sometimes, right? Like… you can’t explain it, but there’s something about the way a person looks at you that just rubs you the wrong way.”

“C’mon, if Shiro didn’t like you, he wouldn’t have given you that heating pad.”

“We don’t talk about that day,” she snapped, sticking her nose up and adding, “It didn’t happen as far as any of us are concerned.”

“Right, because you’re a robotic, demonic _beast_ who doesn’t experience normal, human, bodily functions,” Lance laughed, nudging her in the arm. They walked through the doors of the dining hall, swiping their cards at the entrance. “ _Obviously_ he cares about you. You don’t exactly have to care about him _back_ , but… it’d make his job easier.”

“Being friends with his residents _isn’t_ a part of his job description,” she countered, and rushed ahead to stock up on pasta and spaghetti sauce. She grabbed several breadsticks and stuck one in her mouth before they even finished getting the food they wanted. As she munched on it, she talked between mouthfuls, saying, “And being overly invested in his floor’s menstrual cycle is _definitely_ not something he signed up for and doesn’t need to get involved in.”

“He just wants to help you guys out,” Lance muttered. “I mean, it’s shitty that you have to even _have_ … you know.”

“No, I don’t know.”

“ _Pidge_ , don’t make me say it.”

“What, are you too _chicken_ to say it? Code Red? Is Mother Nature visiting? Watch out! it’s Leak Week!” she all but yelled in the middle of the fucking dining hall. Lance’s face went red, and he cringed as some guys from their hall passed by, snickering to themselves. “I could really go for a _Bloody Mary—_ ”

Pidge’s voice shrieked to a halt when Lance slapped his hand over her mouth, pleading desperately for her to just _stop_ talking about _It_. When they finally, silently, agreed to stop with it, Lance let go of her mouth with a sigh. “Oh, come on, you have a sister!”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t _talk about it_ a whole lot,” Lance muttered, still pink at the ears as they joined the guys at the table. They claimed the end where they could sit across from one another, as per their usual affair. “And my younger brother Julian’s a _teenager,_ which means he gets even _more_ grossed out by it whenever Rosa talks about it. You should see his face whenever Mama brings it up.”

“Honestly, no offense, but I’m so glad I don’t live in your household,” Pidge confessed with a laugh. “It sounds like a real carnival every day.”

“Is not!” Lance whined, but found himself giggling over it anyways. 

Everything felt back to normal… up until the point Shiro showed up. He took his usual spot between Lance and Rollo—the fella who wore one-too-many Hawaiian shirts over white t-shirts—, and as every greeted him cheerfully, Pidge just seemed to study him, as if wondering, “What kind of game are you playing…?” 

He wasn’t sure if anyone else felt the tension of Pidge completely brushing off the fact that Shiro even sat there. It was starting to feel like Lance swallowed a scorching rock—the burning sensation pressing into the front of his ribcage seemed to say as much. Or maybe that was just the heartburn from the dining hall’s horrible food choices, but whatever the case, he wondered how full-grown adults like Pidge and Shiro, Shay and Hunk, were capable of acting like a bunch of gossiping teenagers.


	11. I Had The Time Of My Life (Until Shit Hit The Fan)

Lance stuck around Altea Hall at the end of the week trying to catch up on classes. He dedicated this particular day to color theory class, because he was swamped with all of the painting he refused to get done sooner. He was always shit at mixing ratios of color, and this assignment just seemed to prove it. It wasn’t _his_ fault that he just liked to go with the flow and let the colors be what they wanted to be… Okay, maybe it was his fault. Whatever the case, it meant that he had to remix and repaint an entire CMYK scale from scratch. The only swatches he was able to salvage were the ones with the _actual_ , _untainted_ paint. 

He was messaging Shay at the time, which just felt stiff and awkward because he inadvertently _made_ it that way. It was just ridiculous at this point—how much he was stressing over Shay—when he really should be focusing on other, more pressing matters.

Music was playing on the speakers of the studio room, and there were a few other students from his class redoing their paint scales as well. One thing Lance liked the most about Arnette was the fact that his classes were relatively small in size compared to the other major programs at the university. It’s because of this that the fine arts students tended to suffer together as a team, which meant sharing studios and arguing over what music to play. 

Either way, Lance’s hips were swaying to whatever came on, and since he couldn’t stand to sit still, he was on his feet, leaning to and fro to the gentle sway of the intro. It was a classic—something they all heard at least once in their lives whether it be from a wedding reception or _Dirty Dancing_. So they were all singing to each other, a sensual swing to their shoulders as they all belted out:

  


“ _[So](https://youtu.be/l9BbUqHrWFI?t=1m32s) I tell you something—_

_This could be love—because—!_

_I—had—the time of my li-ife,_

_No I ne-ver felt this way be-fore_ …”

  


Above the sound of the music and their incessant, giddy laughter and singing, Lance heard a familiar, “Man, I’m in the wrong major,” from behind. 

Lance froze over his painting, and turned around. The last place he expected to find Keith was in the _color room_. “Wh-What are you doing here?” Lance stammered, hastily dunking his paintbrush into his mason jar of water. “I mean—not that I’m _not happy_ to see you here. But this isn’t exactly near the Co-Op.” As he said it, Keith pushed off the doorway and wandered over, and smiled when he met the eyes of the other student sitting at Lance’s table. 

“I know. But it’s, like, five and Shay said you were here so…” Keith said, and hopped up to sit on one of the tall, colored stools beside Lance. His knees bumped into Lance’s legs as he swung around in the chair.

“You hungry or something? Wanna go out to eat?”

“Well, that, and also we gotta get to class later. Figured we could hang out for a little bit.”

Lance stayed quiet for a moment, his brain divided between _Wait, how many drops of white did I put in the previous batch?_ and _What the hell is Keith talking about?_ At last, it clicked. “Oh, shit, I forgot about that! Sorry, I’ve been here all day, and—” 

His stomach was already kinda twisted into knots, so it gave out a distinct growl for food that had Keith grinning. “Here’s the deal: You keep working, I’ll get food, and then we eat it on the way to the Co-Op,” Keith suggested as Lance pouted, hands over his stomach. “Okay?” Keith insisted, laughter in his voice as he reached out to tug on Lance’s sweatshirt.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he said, and continued to mope over the fact that his stomach hurt so terribly. He hadn’t even realized he was hungry until Keith mentioned something. Stupid Keith, for making him aware of his current State of Suffering. 

Keith mimicked his frown, but with his model-status face, it just came off as incredibly adorable with an added mix of Lance instinctually whining, “ _Aw_ , don’t do that! Makes me feel like I did something wrong!” Keith’s puppy-dog look broke out into a smirk, and a quick roll of his eyes. His legs swung to the side and he hopped off the stool. “ _Keeeith_!”

“Hm?” he said distractedly, “I’m just gonna get food. I’ll be right back.”

“Promise?” 

Keith punched him in the arm for it, which left Lance in more of a disaster than Keith found him in. “Don’t get sappy with me. Get to work, lazy-ass.”

After Keith confirmed Lance didn’t have an allergies before leaving, Lance set to work finishing up his project, but that didn’t stop his studio friends from badgering him about who Keith was. It just caused Lance’s ears and cheeks to turn pink, and a collectively suggestive “ _Ooo!_ ” to go around the room. It seemed that even college students were just as ridiculously immature as high schoolers. 

By some miracle, he managed to finish a strip of his color scale and run it under the blowdryer to dry it out just as Keith sauntered into the room again. The only reason he knew it was Keith was because the girl at Lance’s table cooed out, “ _Laaance_ , your _special friend_ is here—!”

“Shut up! Don’t make it weird,” Lance whined.

“What, are we not special friends or something?” Keith remarked, to which Lance’s table-buddy giggled at, and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at Lance. 

Lance scowled at Keith. “Don’t encourage them. They’ve been _badgering me_ since you left,” he complained.

“Oh come on, you love the attention,” his table-buddy said, hands on her hips. “If you want me to wash up your side of the table after this, you might as well just let me pick on you a little bit longer.”

“Tough payment. I like it,” Keith whistled, smirking devilishly. He stepped up to their table—pointedly avoiding the paint splotches left behind—and set a bag of Potbelly sandwiches in front of Lance. “You wouldn’t believe how hard it was not to devour this entire bag on the way here.”

“I’m guessing you love Potbelly’s then,” he commented, leaning over to take a whiff of the bag. It just made his stomach ache more, and made him work faster to scoop up everything he brought with him into his art box. He swung the latch down and secured it before heaving his backpack straps onto his shoulders, and turning to where Keith was making smalltalk with Lance’s table-buddy.

Before they left, Keith fist-bumped her before grabbing the bag of food and heading out, resting his forearm against Lance’s shoulder. They were nearly equal in height—Lance supposed that only posture and shoe size differentiated them in that respect—so it wasn’t a far reach. It felt natural despite the fact that they often tiptoed around each other like a middle schoolers just starting to date.

Keith reached into the bag and tore open the bag of chips. As they wandered towards the Co-Op, he busied himself with feeding Lance chips along the way until the bag was emptied, and they went to eating the still-warm sandwiches. The hand Lance held his art box with was turning bitter cold, so he swapped hands and held his warm, toasted sandwich for a while. A delighted hum escaped him at the taste of _food at last_. He didn’t even care what exactly was _in_ the sandwich so long as it filled his stomach and set his tastebuds on a magical journey to the realm of not-starving. Pure bliss.

“You like?” Keith laughed, because Lance was making semi-orgasmic sounds as he ate his sandwich. 

“ _Do I_. I wish I could have thirty of these,” he blurted out, covering his mouth with the back of his hand as he talked. No need to show Keith the half-eaten food in his mouth. Not exactly his most attractive look. “How’s your’s?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t tried it yet since I got distracted by all the noise you’re making. Unless you want me to jab you in the throat, you’d better knock it off,” he laughed, and Lance nudged him in the side, chuckling all the while.

  


  


Lance really should have expected something to happen when it came to the tension between Shiro and Pidge. He just didn’t expect it to happen the way it did—at the Co-Op that night when Keith and Lance came back from the modeling session to a party in full swing. Lance knew briefly about the party, just from all the preparations that were going down when Lance showed up to stash his art box in Keith’s room. The yellow-and-white kitchen was a disaster at the time, and it was still a mess when they came back at nearly nine thirty to find liquor and booze littering the countertops where some of the older, _legal_ residents were playing bartender. 

Lance internally told himself, “Yeah, this is normal. They live on frat row—of course they have parties every now and then.” He just… hadn’t really been up to date with what that meant. 

It meant that Lance would either stay for the party, or scurry home to the safety of his dorm room where Shiro was probably pouring over yet another manufacturing indesign textbook with his desk lamp and quiet music on. And with only a _little_ suggestion from Keith, Lance caved. He was weak through-and-through. There was no tough-guy about him—especially considering he couldn’t seem to stop himself from tracking down Keith at the first party he ever went to. 

Of course, Lance couldn’t _go to a party_ without his ultimate wing-woman AKA Pidge Gunderson. And yeah, maybe Lance didn’t need a wing-woman these days, but he still needed a wacky dance-partner, or someone to retreat to on the edges of the fray. So naturally, Lance called her up from the muffled safety of Keith’s room while Keith changed out of his athletic gear, and Lance stood pointedly facing the door, an arm crossed over his chest.

“Shalom, noob,” Pidge greeted.

“Pidge! Hey, hi,” he blurted out, phone tucked to his ear. “Uh, yeah, quick question: Would you be interested in coming to the Co-Op for an hour or so? There’s a party going on and we don’t have to stay long, but… Keith said it’s better than the frat parties. And I know you trust Keith.”

“Yeah, I trust him more than you.” 

“Right, so we’ll talk about that later. But are you in or out?” Lance asked, rolling his eyes. 

The bass downstairs was humming through the floorboards, vibrating against the rubber soles of his shoes. A group of girls went giggling past the door, talking loud and drunkenly, and Lance hoped Pidge hadn’t heard them. From what he could tell, there was a haze of something in the air akin to a misty, bad-smelling fog that clouded all other senses. He hoped that was just the muffled chatter on the other end of the line. 

Pidge came back to him. “I’m studying with some people in the lounge. Could they come too?” she asked.

He pulled the phone away and turned to Keith to ask, but the words just sort of shriveled in his mouth and died along with every last lingering thread of sanity. Keith wasn’t exactly _shirtless_ or _pantsless_ at the time, but he definitely _wasn’t_ decent. His button-up was open and the fly of his pants was wide, exposing his red-plaid boxers and the happy trail that Lance just did _not_ need the image of at this very moment. 

Lance shrieked, voice pitching high as he slapped his hands over his eyes, aware that Keith had just looked up at the alarmed noise. “Ah! Sorry—P-Pidge is wondering if some of our friends from Kingsley could come.”

“Yeah, but they gotta pay. It’s a five dollar entry,” Keith said, and continued to laugh. “ _Dude_ , it’s _fine_. I strip in front of Coran all the time and he doesn’t even bat an eye. What are you, _twelve_?”

“Keith’s stripping?!” Pidge shrieked. “I’ll be there in two minutes!”

He heard a distant, “Yeah right!” from Nora while he turned all shades of red. In his flustered rage, he blurted out, “W-Well—Coran’s, like, _sixty years old_! His hormones are probably shriveled up to the size of a walnut!”

“Old people have sexual desires just like we do, _nerd_ ,” someone shouted from the other end of the line, and Lance slapped his hand over his face, covering his embarrassment further by falling face-first into Keith’s bed. 

“I’m on speaker, aren’t I?” he whined through the blankets.

“Do you expect anything less from me?” Pidge sang. “We’ll be there in half an hour with cash. You better still be alive or else I’ll kill you.”

Lance hung up on her and groaned into the blankets. After a few seconds, he deemed it safe to look at Keith, who had a faint shadow of an amused smile on his face. He was finishing up the buttons on his shirt when a knock sounded on the door. Keith called the visitor in, and soon Nyma was strolling through. 

“Hey _sluts_ ,” she said, arm trailing lazily behind her to the girl she dragged in with her. “Shay said you’d be here.” 

Lance pushed himself up and tucked a leg underneath him, observing the strangers that crowded the door, chatting aimlessly with Keith as he stepped over to his mirror and combed his hair back from his face. Their words all sort of blurred together into this murky pool of drunken clarity, so Lance couldn’t quite follow along to anything beyond the basic details of the party.

Eventually, they were suddenly leaving Keith’s room and locking it behind them. Keith grabbed Lance by the wrist and towed him along like they time they burst through the back door of the Co-Op and made a beeline for Shay’s room—the first time Lance ever met Nyma. Now Nyma was the leader of the group, paving a path down the stairs with her heavy blonde hair in two tight buns on top of her head as the start of twin ponytails falling over her shoulders. She had bright red eyeshadow on to compliment her lipstick, and her jet-black crop top. The collar of her shirt was completely mesh, and at around her bellybutton, her harem pants started with wildly patterned elastic fabric, and baggy bottoms.

Lance felt severely underdressed, considering the day started with messy painting in a studio.

They wandered around the house and introduced Lance to people he immediately forgot until his phone vibrated in his pocket, and he and Keith hurried to the front door to ensure that Pidge and the others were welcome in even if they weren’t on the list. Keith vouched for them with the lead people of the house, and they all had their hands stamped. 

Pidge had a nervous smile on her face as Shiro followed after her, hands in his pockets and a soft smile on his face. He hardly seemed to be regretting anything about coming.

“I thought RAs weren’t supposed to stay at parties if their residents ran into them,” Lance accused, raising an eyebrow as Shiro shrugged.

“Yeah, but I _accompanied_ you guys to make sure you don’t get too out of hand. If anything that should be fine. I plan on leaving at eleven anyway,” Shiro reassured him, smiling nervously as if the thought of finding his manager here would actually send him to an early grave. Lance couldn’t even imagine the consequences of _that_ happening. 

Somewhere in the middle of talking with everyone from Kingsley—even Flerona, Nora, and Rollo were there—Keith disappeared and hurried off with Nyma to grab a drink for themselves. Lance took that as the cue to just hang with the Kingsley Gang for a while, which resulted in an impromptu dance-session in the basement with everyone else partying to the music pulsing through the speakers.

Lance often forgot how much _fun_ it was to just _dance_. He and his siblings used to dance a lot, or sway to whatever music their Ma had playing at the time. Though his music taste was rather mainstream, he flowed with anything, and could dance on command without breaking a sweat. Who cared if he looked ridiculous if he was having fun? 

Keith and Nyma showed up to their group with red solo cups, and smiles on their lips. They jumped up to sit on a wooden shelving ledge on the far side of the dance floor. Lance tried his best to ignore the fact that they were blatantly studying the Kingsley Gang. He went to pull Pidge around, lifting her arms up and spinning her. She threw her head back laughing, her hands still in Lance’s as they shimmied back and forth, leaning forward, back, shoulders shaking. 

A line dance song came on, so they jumped to the rhythm in sync. Lance added a flare to his that Shiro and Pidge picked up on from either side of him, and by the end of the song, they were all laughing and sharing the new-and-improved dance with everyone in their group. 

They dissolved into pairs and smaller groups. Flerona and Nora met with some strangers across the floor and went to dance with them. Rollo and some of the other guys went to check out the upstairs. Keith and Nyma finished their cups and came to join them on the dance floor.

Lance never saw Keith dance before, but he and Nyma were perfectly in tune with one another. They new the songs, the lyrics, the moves to make them shine on the dance floor. People from the Co-Op came to gather around—their friends coming to dance along with them and joining in a massive circle of clapping hands and arms raised. 

Keith dissolved into the edges of the circle, bumping off of Lance’s shoulder with a wild smile on his face, his arm going around Lance’s back. “How’re you?” he asked, tipping his head towards Lance so he could hear.

“Great! I didn’t know you could dance.”

“It’s all an illusion,” Keith explained, “ _Nyma’s_ the good dancer. _She’s_ the one who makes me look good.”

“It might be the other way around…”

“You’re biased, that’s why. And you’re _supposed_ to say that. You’re my _boyfriend_ ,” he laughed. Even with the music, his laughter was crystal clear, and it made something in Lance’s chest flutter. It really should have been a painful sensation, but he reveled in it all the same. Maybe when he thought back to this moment later that night, he’d remember it as a desperate ache, but for the moment, he loved it.

He and Keith danced for a while. It was nothing miraculously special aside from the closeness of being shoved against on all sides. It wasn’t disgustingly sweaty like the frat, with the slick, slimy floors and the awful, wretched smell of vomit in the air. This was… _fun_ , and all his friends were there, dancing their hearts out to music they may or may not have heard before. 

The way Keith danced was intoxicated—not because of the booze, but because of how his head just sort of swayed and lolled on his shoulders. His eyes remained on Lance’s, his shoulders tipping side to side. The movement they both followed caused Lance to feel as though they whole world was rocking to and fro while their eyes remained constant. There were Christmas lights strung around the ceiling, flickering in bokeh circles across the edges of Lance’s vision where Pidge and Shiro stood. 

It took a moment for Lance’s gaze to break away and look towards his friends. He realized that they were stationary in the middle of the dance floor, which caused dancers to bump into them, or avoid them entirely. Lance stopped dancing, and by default, so did Keith, who asked, “What’s going on? What is it?”

Lance was entirely aware of the guy Shiro tried to keep near them, but eventually the stranger just sort of… ran off with a lame apology. Shiro turned to Pidge, annoyed, “C’mon, you didn’t have to be rude to the guy! Why didn’t you just dance with him?”

“Because I didn’t want to!”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to be a bitch about it—”

“So what?! I have to dance with every guy who asks?” she snapped, jabbing him in the chest. Lance was just about to break them up when Shiro waved his hand dismissively at Lance to spout off again.

“ _No_. I’m just saying that how do you know you don’t like… _dancing with guys_ if you haven’t tried it?” _Oh no_ , Lance thought dreadfully, watching Pidge’s face burn red, hands half-raised as if to strangle Shiro. Instead, they turned to fists.

She cranked her elbow back and in the next second, Shiro tripped against the people behind him, staggering to keep on his feet. His hand went to his cheek where Pidge managed to nick him. It might not have been the most powerful punch, but the look on Shiro’s face was enough to tell that it hurt. 

Lance was so startled that he shrieked, hands going over his mouth. He ran over to Shiro and steadied him, pulling his hand back to check the pre-bruise on his face. “Are you okay?” Lance asked, but Shiro’s eyes were unfocused, on the ground as he pressed the back of his hand to his cheek. He was acutely aware of all the faces turned towards them now, and he looked up and aggressively met the gazes of the people watching them before he was startled by Keith standing beside him, tapping him on the shoulder.

Keith’s brows were furrowed, distressed. “Where’d Pidge go?”

By the time Lance looked behind him, he saw that Keith was right: Pidge was nowhere in sight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IDK how many of you have stuck around with my shenanigan for the past several fics, but... I've been sampling references from some of them. Call them easter eggs, whatever ya like. I've dropped one in this chapter :P
> 
> Also, BACK ON THE ONE-A-DAY SCHEDULE. See y'all tomorrow :D


	12. The Best Things In Life Will Be The Death Of Him

The second Shiro woke up, he went to his closet and stayed there for approximately fifteen minutes before Lance ever gathered the strength to leave the warmth of his loft. Kingsley had yet to turn on the heat—either that, or their room just didn’t have a working heater. Either way, it meant that Lance dressed in layers of two socks, sweatpants, and a sweater over his sleep shirt. Shiro had mounds of blankets he hid under, but now he stood with his bruise exposed to the mirror in his closet. 

They hadn’t drank anything at the party, but Shiro looked _seriously_ hungover with how pale he was. There was a glossiness in his eyes when he looked at Lance coming around to rifle through his own closet. Lance stopped and looked at him expectantly. Secretly, he was taking in the sight of the red and blue mark on Shiro’s cheek. It was faint, but blatantly obvious to anyone who so much as glanced at him.

Lance didn’t want to admit he sided with anybody, and in some ways, that made him feel like the bad guy. They started the week by not talking about it, avoiding it, even at dinner when he and Pidge went to the dining hall and she made a beeline for the other side of the sitting area. She and Pidge sat at one of the smaller tables, so the entire Kingsley Gang couldn’t sit with them at all. 

She acted almost like nothing had happened, and if it weren’t for the fact that they were on the complete opposite side of the dining hall from the rest of their friends, Lance was sure he’d agree that _of course nothing happened_.

“Seriously? Are you going to keep acting like this?” Lance complained. “Shiro has a _fucking bruise on his face_. I’m kind of worried for when his manager asks what gives.”

“He’ll just say something about ‘defending the honor of his residence’ or something and his manager will brush it under the rug,” she muttered with a flippant wave of her hand. She picked up a french fry and stuffed it into her mouth. “Whatever. S’not like I care.”

Lance sat there, jaw slack as she continued to eat. She was staring at her food up until the point where she went for a drink, and pointedly made eye contact with Lance. “Are you serious right now?” Lance said, eyebrows raised. He nervously adjusted his position in his seat. “Like… _sure_ , Shiro’s kind of an idiot sometimes. But you know how stupidly smart people are! They don’t get social cues and shit.”

“So you’re calling me not-stupidly-smart.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Please, enlighten me.” They stared each other down until Pidge relented. “Sorry. I know I’m being a bitch, but I’m just blatantly avoiding that detail so I can go on and continue to be a bitch. Shiro’s an ass and I never want to speak to him again.”

“ _Why_ though? You didn’t need to _punch him_ for trying to get you to dance with a guy,” he remarked.

“It’s not _just_ that. He’s been an ass to me for a while now. He’s like… my _parents_ ,” she hissed out, aggressively jabbing her hand towards Lance. She leant back in her seat, crossing her arms with a defiant look on her face. She frowned at the people around them, all chatting away and eating and having a good time. “Like the second he found out I don’t like guys _or_ girls he think’s I’m some weird alien mutant that needs guidance. I don’t _fucking_ need guidance. I hate when people tell me what I should and shouldn’t like, you know?”

“Reasonable.”

“ _I know right?_ Is that too much to ask?” she muttered, glaring at her food for a moment. 

In her silence, Lance said, “Do you want me to try and talk to him?”

“No, you’re terrible with confrontation,” she admitted, and as Lance was about to argue, she added, “Well, except for this time. Kudos on bringing it up. I wasn’t sure if you had the balls to confront me on this.”

He glared at her relentlessly for the rest of the meal, only breaking the hostility to laugh at a joke, tell a story about how figure drawing was going in class—how ridiculous everyone got about their own five minutes of posing after Lance went up and practically stuck his leg in the air for every single minute of it. His peers snickered a little, but it became a competition to see who could hold the most dramatic pose for those five minutes. Some people balanced on one leg, others using the pillar to prop themselves up upside down. Half-break-dance moves. Dramatic swoons. It was pure insanity.

“I’m fairly positive my professor’s fed up with us,” Lance confessed with a laugh. “On Wednesday we’re gonna try and convince her to let two people go up at a time, just to reenact _The Titanic_.”

“Why are art students so unbelievable,” Pidge grumbled, though her bemused smile gave her away. “Shouldn’t you guys be taking this _seriously_?”

“We are! We’re just having a little fun,” he explained. “And besides—for us it’s the drawing that counts. We’ve already learned general anatomy and drawn the damn skeletons a bazillion times within the past _week_. By now it’s just muscle memory.”

When they left the dining hall, Lance saw out of the corner of is eye their entire Gang moving to get up at the same moment as them. He heard Pidge mutter a curse under her breath, and hastily dumped her dishes away before making a legitimate _run for it_ out of the dining hall. Stuck between walking and running, Lance hurried after her, smiling apologetically at their friends, only to squeak when he realized they were all running after them.

“Go, _go, go!_ ” Lance yelled, pushing Pidge ahead of him and bolting for the stairs. 

“You can’t run from us!” Flerona screamed, no more than a few paces behind Lance before she lunged at him and tackled him from behind. He staggered, her weight pressing into his back as her legs wound around his waist. She was still hollering like a maniac in the middle of the Kingsley lobby.

“Run Pidge! Don’t look back!” Lance shouted, just as Rollo swung up and threw his arms around them, rocking them back and forth before they eventually collapsed in a fit of laughter onto the couch. Pidge was already gone through the dorm wing door, and Nora barely made it before it swung shut and locked itself. 

“ _Dammit!_ We almost had her,” she whined, and looked back at them in distress.

Shiro sauntered up a few paces behind them all, hands in his pockets and bruised cheek turned pointedly away from the front desk where his coworker sat. “You guys are ridiculous and loitering right now. Off the couch, c’mon,” he chastised, and the instant Flerona hopped off, Lance fell onto the ground with a scream. 

Rollo was still sat in the couch, slouched with his arms over the back cushions. He lifted a hand, an annoyed look on his face as he said, “You made _no attempt_ to catch her.”

Nora stepped up, hands on her hips. “Yeah! What’s up with that? _What?_ are you _chicken?_ ”

Shiro turned a bland look over at the both of them before saying with a sigh, “I don’t need your guys’ help resolving a conflict with a friend.”

“I don’t think Pidge considers you guys friends anymore,” Lance confessed, pushing himself off the ground. “She doesn’t even want to talk about you, let alone _with you_.”

For all of Lance’s shortcomings, he was relatively good at maintaining eye contact, if only just to see the reaction he’d get for what he said. Shiro tried to do the same, but faltered, and dropped his eyes to the ground. He had the same crease between his brows that he had that morning. 

Eventually, Shiro looked at Lance again, and it was with the sort of look that made Lance cripple with fear. He’d _definitely_ be sleeping with one eye open that night. Clearly _someone_ wasn’t happy about this new divide between their Kingsley Gang.

  


  


**Keith:** _What are you doing right now_

**Lance:** _Um… working on a project. Why?_

_Another impromptu date I assume_

**Keith:** _I can hear your sass all the way from the gym where you’re going to meet me in fifteen minutes_

_Assuming that’s how long it takes for you to get your ass over here_

**Lance:** _Are you suggesting I’m fat and that I need to work out_

**Keith:** _You aren’t fat._

**Lance:** _I swear I can never tell if you’re sarcastic even in real life_

**Keith:** _I’m not being sarcastic. You aren’t fat._

**Lance:** _Stop patronizing me !!!_

**Keith:** _o my god get your fat ass over here_

**Lance:** _don’t say that!_

**Keith:** _LANCE_

**Lance:** _NO_

**Keith:** _I LITERALLY JUST WANT TO WORK OUT WITH YOU_

_IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK_

**Lance:** _o why didn’t you say so_

**Keith:** _I am dating a drama queen_

**Lance:** _^^ sarcasm ;)_

  


  


It took fifteen minutes, just as Keith suspected, for Lance to arrive at Arnette’s gym. As he walked up, he spotted Keith sitting on the steps, his elbows on his knees, leaning over his phone. It wasn’t until Lance was a step away from him that Keith ever realized that someone was approaching. 

Keith tilted his head back and squinted at Lance. “Why’d you have to be so dramatic about this?” he asked.

Lance rolled his eyes. “Did you expect anything less? Also, I asked Hunk to join us.”

“Ah, yes. The guy that caused Shay to ransack our paint supply to make a poster that says ‘NO EXCEPTIONS,’” Keith mused aloud as he pushed himself to his feet. 

Lance was well aware of the new addition to the Co-Op’s sign collection. Hunk mentioned it to Lance during their last class together with the description of how he stood on the other side of the road staring at it for approximately five minutes thinking “How passive-aggressive it was to make a sign targeted at me.” In small font at the bottom of the sign it read, “(how’s this for size?),” but Hunk didn’t get close enough to read it, in fear of being pelted with potatoes.

“You don’t hate Hunk, right?” Lance asked, frowning at Keith.

His boyfriend shrugged, saying, “He’s my _lab partner_ , and I never really _hate_ anyone. I think he’s a good guy.”

“But do you agree with Shay? That every frat guy is a terrible human being?” Lance asked, and Keith shook his head. They ended the conversation there because as they stood in the cold, they spotted Hunk crossing the road and waving to them as he hopped onto the sidewalk. 

Lance stepped up to him and grabbed him by the hand for a bro-hug. “Hey, what’s up buddy? How’s it been?” 

Hunk sighed and said, “Could be better. Midterms are kicking my ass, so this is a good break.” He greeted Keith with the same half-hug before they headed indoors away from the cold. The university gym was larger than any place Lance ever went to, considering throughout high school he simply used their facilities rather than an actual _nice_ gym.

The three floors were intimidating to say the least. The main area had an opening that showed all of the levels—from the treadmills to the weights to the track on the first floor. They swiped in at the front with their student IDs, and walked through those metal contraptions that resembled airport security along the way. 

Lance’s eyes went up, and he spun around to see it all. Sure, he had a tour of it during Welcome Week, but he never thought he’d ever actually set _foot in the building_. When his eyes came back down to floor-level, Hunk was grinning at him and slapping a hand on Lance’s back. The force of it nearly sent Lance straight to the ground. “You ever been here before?” he asked.

Discretely, Lance reached behind to rub his back. “Yeah, once. Where’s the pool anyway?”

“Basement,” Keith answered. “You two swimming together or something?”

“Yeah. I always wanted to test it out as, like, part of my exercise routine. And Lance here used to be in swimming and all, so…” Hunk started, and ended with a shrug towards Lance. “What floor are you gonna be on?” he asked Keith.

“My modeling professor has us doing core exercises in our free time. So I’ll be on the second floor doing abs,” he explained, slapping a hand over his stomach with a sigh. He frowned down at it. “I’ve been doing this for weeks now. I feel like at this point I could stand in a store window and no one could tell the difference between me and the mannequins.”

“They totally could. You’re more attractive than any of the mannequins,” Lance said.

“Aw!” Hunk squeaked, though Keith gave them both a dull stare before pointedly turning on his heels and walking off. The cuteness of Hunk’s smile faded and turned to panic. “Wait! I didn’t mean it! Well—I did, but you have to admit that was cute!”

“He’s probably going to flip you off,” Lance whispered in warning, and not a second later as Keith waltzed up the stairs of the gym, he turned to stick his middle finger up at them. “See? Told you.”

Hunk deflated a little. “Whenever I compliment him on our teamwork in lab, he gets like that. I don’t understand,” he said. The two of them descended to the basement where the scent of chlorine filled their noses, and the echoing of water lapping against the vents came to their attention. He sighed a little as they waited in line to grab a locker key to share. “It’s almost like he doesn’t like to be addressed at all. Even at the start of the semester when we picked lab partners, he was already so quiet. 

“I mean, people would talk to him and stuff. Don’t get me wrong—he has the potential to be a people-person, but it’s almost like he’s an accidental extrovert sometimes, you know? Anyway, I think everyone, even just a little bit, likes the attention,” Hunk explained just before it was their turn to get the key. 

As Hunk exchanged his student ID with the girl behind the desk, Lance said, “I don’t know. I feel like he’s just… really strange in any social situation. And everyone seems to know him, so he _must_ talk to people, right? Even just a little?”

“Well, he’s glued to his phone during class all the time. I’m surprised he gets all his work done on time if I’m being completely honest,” he confessed with a snort. He stuffed his student idea into his wallet, and took the key from the lady before guiding the way to the locker room. “Wait—so how long have you two been dating now?”

“I think almost four weeks now. I think? I mean, we never _really_ put a label to it. I’m sure my Ma is entirely prepared to hack into my Facebook account and make it online official, though. She’s been harassing me about it on a daily basis,” Lance confessed with a nervous laugh. He was honestly terrified. He wouldn’t put it past his Ma to find someone to help access his Facebook account. 

“Yeah. And what’s this about modeling classes? Is he really gonna be a model or something?” he asked, and quickly added, “That’s not to say modeling isn’t a decent career choice! He could make bank if he really tried at it. All I’m saying is that I just thought plants and environmental science was, like, his _thing_ , you know?”

“He’s just trying it out. I don’t really know what he’s gonna end up doing with it,” Lance confessed, and really, that just meant he didn’t _want_ to know if Keith planned on modeling for Arnette fine arts figure drawing courses. That would be the ultimate call for Lance’s demise.

They chatted as they turned their backs on one another and changed into their swim trunks. Being in swim for so many years made the process easy and smooth of Lance, and in a matter of less than two minutes, he had his clothes stuffed into his bag and stuffed into the locker along with his jacket and shoes. His goggles hung from his neck and his towel over his shoulder.

He never really worried about his body image much. His Ma was the sort of person to remind them all that they were what they were, and that was that. Sure, he could work out and be more toned in general, but for now… he was who he was and it was because he had school to worry about. Free time could be spent however he wanted, and while he could have used it to work on his project, he’d spent all semester doing that and avoiding the gym altogether. _There’s nothing wrong with skipping a month of going to the gym_ , he told himself as he stood in front of the mirror waiting for Hunk.

They swam for two hours without even realizing it.

It felt so great to be in the water again, and the pool was mostly empty considering the time Keith decided to drag Lance and Hunk over at. Lance dipped into the water, and slid in from the ledge. It was warm, like most indoor pools were. It reminded him of a smooth, freshly cleaned comforter wrapping him close in its warm embrace. He dipped down until his nose was submerged, and he stared across the surface of the water with his breath held in his throat.

They had two lanes to themselves after a while, and they’d race one another with Lance always coming out in first. He thought Hunk the basics of flip turns and the motion of freestyle arm strokes. They would challenge each other to see who could hold their breath the longest, all while staring at one another through their goggles underwater. 

Hunk’s head of black hair stuck up on all sides, and as bubbles pebbled out of his nostrils, he started to smile. Lance grinned back, giggling a little and only losing more breath on it. Suffice to say Hunk won that round.

By the time they met back up with Keith, their fingers were prune-y and the baby hairs framing Keith’s face were damp with sweat. They found him on the second floor, folding up and down on the sit up bench, twisting his torso right to left on every lift. Even if a ratty, sweaty t-shirt, Keith managed to make working out look _good_.

Lance went to stand at the raised foot of the bench, where Keith popped up and reached out to ruffle Lance’s damp hair before lowering himself back down at an agonizingly slow pace. They couldn’t be sure how long Keith had been there doing sit ups, but it just made Lance’s own stomach cry out at the thought of pushing it that far.

“Are you two done?” he asked between breaths, laying flat before maneuvering to get off the bench. His feet slid to the ground, loose and clearly worn out from holding him up for so long. 

“Yeah, but if you aren’t done I don’t mind sticking around a bit longer,” Lance confessed, leaning his hip up against the sit up bench and glancing over at Hunk. “You got shit to get back to?”

“More or less,” he confessed with a laugh. “But… I actually had a question. For Keith.”

Keith sat up from where he was bent over, and rose to his feet, saying, “What’s up?”

Hunk scratched at his mess of damp hair and sucked in his breath through his teeth. “I know we talked about Shay before. But… I’m just wondering if it’d be possible to talk to her some time? I still feel bad about blowing up at her.”

Lance looked over at Keith, watching his expression as Hunk talked. The corner of his lips turned up, but he repressed it—amused. Keith didn’t think it was possible. “Look—I’ve been friends with Shay since our first semester here,” Keith started, shaking his head, “and I love her and all that. But she can be a real bitch sometimes. Don’t take it too personally—she picks fights with a _lot_ of guys like you.”

“I know! But I’m not _like_ those guys. I don’t want her to think I am,” he insisted, and Lance just rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, man.”

Lance snorted and said, “You seriously sound like a cliche rom-com right now. ‘Oh, I’m not like other guys! Shay, you can _trust me—!_ ’”

Keith threw his head back and laughed, wincing at the pain in his stomach as he doubled over. Hunk groaned and shoved Lance as he laughed, “ _Fuck_ you! That’s not what I mean!”

Lance clasped his hands together, twisting on his toes and popping his shoulder up. “‘I think if you really tried to understand me, you’d see that I’m a great guy! I would _never_ hurt you!’ ‘Oh Hunk, you’re the _greatest guy I’ve ever met!_ ’”

“Fuck you!” Hunk yelled, smiling wide as he pushed Lance again, and tackled him into a chokehold. Lance shrieked, squirming and pushing his foot into the back of Hunk’s leg to get free. He accidentally jammed his heel straight into the back of Hunk’s knee, and they went down _hard_ onto the gym floor with Keith scrambling to get out of the way. By that point, people were watching and grinning to themselves as Lance yelled, “Free me, you demon!” all while laughing so hard his stomach hurt.

  


**Keith:** _I want to go to the art museum_

_Nyma’s gonna come with_

**Lance:** _Um… okay ?? Good to know_

**Keith:** _I’ll be at Kingsley in twenty minutes_

**Lance:** _Since when did we agree to this_

**Keith:** _Are you at Kingsley or not?_

**Lance:** _*sigh* yeah I am_

**Keith:** _then stop complaining_

  


**Unknown Number:** _Hey Lance its Nyma Keith wants to know where you are_

**Lance:** _I was just tryna find you guys_

_I go to the bathroom for a minute and y'all disappear_

_Also why didn’t Keith just text me_

**Nyma:** _You know how he is sometimes_

_He doesn’t feel like texting you rn_

**Lance:** _Is he mad at me or something?_

_I’ll just stick to this sculpture of some dude killing a snake its cool its fine_

**Nyma:** _Pff he’s not mad at you stop being dramatic_

_Wait you’re by the sculptures?_

**Lance:** _yeah_

**Nyma:** _O cuz Keith wanted to come for the sculptures. We’re gonna mimic the sculptures and shit_

**Lance:** _this is definitely something I did not sign up for_

**Nyma:** _Don’t worry about it you’ll just be taking pictures of us_

_He wants to practice different poses and shit_

_He just said he wants to go to the mall or something and imitate the mannequins_

**Lance:** _why am I not surprised? whatever sounds good to me_

  


  


Lance was on his phone before class the day after—a Monday—forever amused by the photos he took the day before. He leant over his oversized sketchpad and rested his head against his forearms, flicking through pictures of Keith and Nyma in the Forever 21 window mimicking the ridiculously long-legged mannequin women. Inside the store, Keith went and climbed on top of a table next to a mannequin and they barely got a picture before one of the retail workers chased him off. There was a blurry picture of Keith scurrying off the table, his nervousness portrayed in his grimace, and the worker a mere blur across the screen coming for him.

Lance laughed into his arm and turned up again to check his Instagram where Nyma tagged him in a photo of he and Keith in the museum reenacting a painting. Nearly three hundred likes. _I’ve never been so popular on Instagram before_ , he thought to himself with a smile. She had a _lot_ of photos of Keith on her Instagram, but most of them were for aesthetic shots. The only reason Lance could tell it was Keith in some of the pictures was because he recognized the shape of his boyfriend’s hands, his boney wrists, and his natural stationary pose with his arms crossed or hands on his hips.

People were mingling around the class up until the point where the professor walked in and shut the main lights off, and the spotlights on. They focused on the central platform in the room, where Lance’s professor walked to after setting her bag on the desk in the far corner. 

“All right everybody! Today’s the day,” she announced, clapping her hands to silence everyone. She strode up onto the platform and said, “Just a reminder: Phones away and be courteous—the models that we’ll be drawing for the next three weeks are professionals and it’s important to take their work seriously.”

The door to the storage closet opened and the model came in wearing a silk robe in the style of a kimono pattern with a black hem. Lance bent down to grab his case of pencils and shit before turning up and realizing that the model was so familiar and expected that Lance almost didn’t think anything of it. He associated Keith so much with going to modeling classes that it wasn’t all that much of a surprise to see him standing there as his professor said, 

“Everyone, this is Keith. He’ll be our model for this first week.”

Keith’s eyes passed over the desks that formed a crescent around him before he ever made it to where Lance stood in his usual spot—on the far side closest to the neighboring studio room. He had that same stupid smirk with that same stupid hair up in a stupid bun and before Lance realized it, his professor was across the room after explaining that they’d be doing quick, five-minute sketches and—

—Keith’s robe dropped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My first cliffhanger in a while o.o](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/post/160826419900/so-development-has-been-made-in-my-acekeith-fic). How'd I do lol


	13. An Average Display Of Public Nudity

The first two sketches made it feel like Lance’s head was about to rupture into a swarm of hot, fluffy wads of cotton set on fire. It took an entire ten minutes for Lance’s brain to transition from _Holy shit he’s naked he’s so naked is everyone else seeing this? Is it just me or is it hot in here? Why is everyone staring at him? Oh shit I’ve only drawn a stick figure god damn it it’s been five minutes_ to _You’ve drawn him a million times just grow up, will you?_

The timer went off after the second sketch and Lance scrapped the paper and dragged his hands over his face, through his hair, and let out the breath that was threatening to tear through his chest if he held on to it any longer. He was thankful that they were all standing-slash-sitting at easels in the dark. The spotlights probably made it more difficult for Keith to see Lance anyways. And in the dark, the human eye’s capability to perceive saturated hues became diminished so _Yes_ , Lance reassured himself, _no one can see how fucking red your face is_.

In order _not_ to die in the middle of this shitshow, Lance hung onto every last technical thing he learned over these weeks. He marked down the length of Keith’s head and measured his height with it. He pulled at the gesture of Keith’s arm held out, replicated its length to better match the one crossing over his bare abdomen and resting against the defined edge of his hipbone _just_ next to where his soft white flesh dipped between his legs, following his line of pubic hair to—

_Shit_.

Keith’s expression remained impassive as per usual. Once Lance got around to actually _focusing_ on his drawings, he found himself trying to figure Keith out. He could hardly imagine what it’d be like to stand in front of an entire class butt naked. It was so exposing that Lance was certain that had they switched places, he would have straight up run out of the room. But Keith just stood there as motionless as could be, his eyes focusing on the walls beyond all their easels. 

It didn’t take long for Lance to notice that he was using the poses they practiced in the museum and at the mall. They were simple but dramatic, and graceful as ever. They accentuated his long legs and the planes of his back where his muscles shifted with every transition. Lance illustrated as best he could during those five-minute sketches how toned Keith was, from the tension in his biceps to his trapezius muscle lining his fluid spine. 

The spotlights cast shadows where necessary, to define the general mould of Keith’s abdomen where it dipped and curved towards his bellybutton. Where his extended arms cast shadows over his chest. Where his leg dipped back and darkened the tops of his thighs, and the straight line of his shin. 

It felt bizarre to realize that Lance had never even seen Keith without socks, and it wasn’t until they started a twenty-five minute-long drawing that he was even able to realize it. In the middle of the drawing—when Lance started to go in for the details of Keith’s shoulders, neck, face—he realized that Keith’s eyes were directed towards him. It took a second of staring for Lance to remind himself, _Oh, right, we know each other_ , and smile. Keith’s stoic expression nearly cracked for a moment and the slight up-curve of his lip, but he refrained from it.

At Keith’s break time, he pulled on his robe again, and as he tied it around his waist, Lance’s professor pulled them all together to critique the drawings. The main lights went on as Lance tore the drawing from his sketchbook, and realized that one of his studio friends was standing next to him. 

“What?” he asked, wondering if the heat in his cheeks was still visible.

She glanced towards the center of the room, where Keith was stepping off the platform. He glanced briefly at them before heading towards the storage room. “Isn’t that your boyfriend?” she asked, voice low. 

“Um…” Lance started, but it came out as a high-pitched squeak that just proved her point. She yelped a little, only to have Lance’s hand slapped over her mouth. “ _Sh!_ Don’t say it!”

“Sorry! Sorry—it’s just that when we were working on color class stuff, he showed up and we talked for a bit,” she confessed, waving her hand dismissively between them. She pinched her fingers over her lips and locked them shut. “I won’t tell anyone. I swear to it. But when he came in you looked like you were gonna pass out. Did you know he was coming?”

“ _No!_ Now stop talking about it,” Lance hissed, and hurriedly squeezed between the desks to get over to the rest of the class. Critique was starting.

Their drawings went up on the cork board and by the time their professor started nitpicking the details, Keith emerged from the storage room. It took everything in Lance’s power to pay attention to his professor, especially when Keith came to stand not too far from Lance, observing the drawings of himself up on the board. It wasn’t a huge surprise to find the model observing the work of the artists who drew him or her, so Lance told himself this was normal. The only person who would suspect anything of Keith standing near Lance would be the girl who was in his color class. 

A minute or so later, Keith discretely leaned towards him and whispered, “Surprise,” before settling back into his disgustingly evil smirk that would be the death of Lance. He ground his teeth together to keep from screaming.

“So Keith,” Lance’s professor said, drawing everyone’s attention _directly_ towards the two of them standing side-by-side studying the drawings on the board, “this is your first try, right? I know your instructor very well—she recommended you and two other of your classmates to me. How is she?”

“She’s great—everyone in the class is,” he replied with a gentle smile. Since Lance was incapable of looking at Keith without turning red in the face, he got to see some of the girls in his class look at one another with knowing grins. _A disadvantage of being mostly surrounded by women and other gay men_ , Lance mused bitterly to himself. But whatever. That meant they all found Keith attractive, right? So Lance _must_ be doing _something_ right if he managed to snag a beautiful specimen like Keith.

They’d been talking while Lance’s internal monologue went on a rampage. He came back to reality when Keith started commenting on the drawings, and casually—almost as if he hadn’t realized it—pointed out Lance’s.

“Lance—I believe we’ve talked about this before,” his professor said, and internally he hissed, _Shit, I did something wrong_. “But I forget. Did you say you’ve taken figure drawing classes before?”

“Uh, yeah. Last summer, actually—and the one before that,” he confessed. 

“It’s so realistic. I can’t believe you drew that in twenty-five minutes,” one of his classmates said, and if possible he flushed an even brighter shade of red. “The shadows are so intense.”

“Important to note about the shadows: You’ve captured the reflected light even in the darkest sections of his side here—it definitely gives the figure more dimension rather than a flat, two-dimensional object. And you’ve connected it to a basic background, which I want everyone to try on the next go.” With that, she walked away with a simple, “Impressive,” before moving on. Lance let out a breath of relief. He hated being picked on in class, even if portraiture and figure drawing _were_ favorite parts about the entire program. 

  


  


At the end of the day, Keith left after changing while Lance’s professor chattered on about what to expect for the following day. What supplies to bring. Buy this-or-that paper. And _don’t forget_ that the next full-body charcoal portrait would be _graded_.

His sketchbook was still lying open on his easel. While everyone scrambled to get the hell out of there—three hours of studio class was enough to make anyone go crazy—Lance discretely snapped pictures of his sketches. In the midst of turning the page, the girl from color class stepped up to him, and leant against his stool. “So that was interesting,” she said, and he scowled at her jokingly.

“You’re telling me.”

“Who would have thought you could score a guy like him?” she commented, and earned a punch in the arm for it. Lance stuffed his shit into his portfolio bag, and his drawing supplies into his backpack. She badgered him some more about why the hell he hadn’t known Keith was a nude model, to which he replied, “I _knew_ he was taking classes. I didn’t know the school accepted beginners for the figure drawing classes.”

They left the classroom together, still talking about it, until they turned the corner and found Keith waiting by the water fountain for Lance. He had his familiar athletic bag tossed over his shoulder, and a cheeky smile on his face as he pushed off the wall and strode over to them. 

The girl beside Lance squeaked a tad, and blurted out, “You were perfect today!” before slapping her hand over her mouth with a gasp.

Keith laughed and said, “Thanks. I was really excited about today—glad it worked out.”

“I will forever hold this over your head I swear to God,” Lance muttered.

“I think that should go the other way around. I’m fairly positive you were the color of a tomato the entire time,” he said with a laugh, and if Lance wasn’t so flustered, he would have thought Keith’s excitement over this entire thing was adorable. He was smiling so wide that Lance could see faint dimples pressing into his cheeks.

Lance slapped his hand over his face and groaned. “I can’t _believe_ you!”

“Oh, come on. You liked it!”

“Oh, he _definitely_ liked it,” the girl giggled.

“Don’t you have some place to be?” Lance snapped at her, and she yelped, grinning like mad as she ran off, yelling farewell to them both along with, “Can’t wait to see you again next class, Keith!”

Keith waved to her, still smiling like the dork he was. He seemed all too satisfied with himself for Lance’s current state of shock. 

They headed for the far stairwell where they’d avoid the rest of the class since Keith said, “I’m not necessarily supposed to know anyone in the class so don’t tell your professor that you know me.” They wandered through the halls of Altea Hall before exiting out the back door, where the water fountain was currently dry and flecks of rain started to accumulate on the stone benches and concrete. 

It took several minutes of walking in silence for Keith to ask, “Are you actually mad at me, or are you just kidding? Maybe I shouldn’t have sprung that on you.”

“Are you kidding? This is the last thing I expected you to do. I’m just surprised is all,” Lance confessed, adjusting the strap on his portfolio bag so it hung over his shoulder. He could sense Keith watching him, out of the corner of his eye, and so he glanced over briefly before swiftly turning away to clear his throat. “It’s fine. I’m not mad.”

“Okay.”

After a moment, Keith’s hand brushed against Lance’s before his fingers curled over Lance’s. He maneuvered his fingers between Keith’s, and tried not to overthink anything. So… Lance saw Keith naked, and would continue to see Keith naked for the next two, three-hour class periods. This was fine. A lot of people these days saw their partners naked sooner than Lance ever did, but he just expected it to happen… differently. And less publicly. 

_Whatever. This is fine_ , he told himself.

“Luxia and Lotor are gonna be the other two models,” Keith explained. “Coran’s got a gig at the art school on the other side of Portland.”

“Are you getting paid for this?”

“Yeah. A _lot_ more than I expected, but that’s because Arnette pitched in on the funding for the figure drawing classes,” Keith said with a flippant wave of his hand. “So I was thinking this weekend we could do something together. You decide.”

“O-Oh,” Lance stammered out, clutching his free hand to the scarf over his neck. He’d get to decide what they’d do this weekend. _He got to decide_. “Is this you saying you want to go on a cheesy date without being the one to pick it out?” he finally said, turning an accusatory glare over to Keith. 

To his surprise, he watched Keith’s eyes widen, and he pointedly looked away, ducking his chin down. “You _do_ want to go on a cheesy date! Oh my God!”

“ _Lance_ , shut up. You pick what we do.”

“Cheesy date! Cheesy date!”

“You’re unbelievable. Maybe the reason I hate cheesy dates is because they cost money.”

“I don’t care! If you ever want to go on a cheesy date after this, I’ll pay. Cheesy dates are on me,” he insisted, and Keith laughed, leaning to bump his hip against Lance’s. Lance held on tightly to Keith’s gloved hand for the remainder of the walk to Starbucks. Keith talked to him from the other side of the bathroom stall while he changed into his uniform, tossing clothes over the door for Lance to stuff into his athletic bag.

“Text me later,” Keith said as they left the men’s restroom. He bumped Lance’s fist with his own before heading through the staff door.

Lance would catch himself smiling wildly the entire way home. He’d get to his dorm and push his portfolio bag where Shiro couldn’t snoop. He’d sit with Pidge at dinner again and they’d both get chased out of the dining hall by their friends because Pidge still refused to associate with Shiro. Lance would return to his dorm, and after finishing homework, he would lay on the futon staring at the drawings he made of Keith. He almost wished he wasn’t such a chicken. He’d been too nervous during the class to draw Keith’s dick and now he had no evidence of it except for the scribble of Keith’s happy trail leading down to a lazily drawn blob. He was worried one of the students would comment, “Wow, look how detailed Keith’s dick is!” because that would just be proof of how long Lance spent staring at it in the first place.

Allura came over later that day, and sat alongside Lance on the futon while Shiro sat on the floor between her legs, his computer on his lap. The second she strolled through the door, they fell into that position, with Allura’s fingers combing through Shiro’s hair while she scrolled through Tumblr. They were all bundled up in blankets, and Shiro tore down his comforter to envelop both him and Allura to ward off the chill. 

She spent a little while looking behind them all to stare at Lance’s drawings before asking, “How’s Keith doing?”

“Fine. I saw him today.”

“Yeah? Still dating?”

“Mmhm.”

“What’d you guys do today?”

“I drew him naked in the middle of figure drawing class.”

Allura’s hand paused on Shiro’s head, and the sound of Shiro typing stopped in an instant. He dropped a hand to the ground, and took a second to turn around and stare at Lance like he was insane. “You _what?_ ” he blurted out. “I-I mean, you _said_ he was taking nude modeling classes, but—”

“Whoa, wait a second—Keith was taking _nude modeling classes_ and you _failed to mention this to me?_ ” she blurted out, gawking. “You can take nude modeling classes? Since when?” 

Lance laughed at the look on Shiro’s face, as if he was preparing to tell her, “Don’t even think about it.” Instead, Shiro said, “Lance accidentally convinced Keith to take nude modeling classes, and now it’s come to bite him in the ass.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but settled with a sigh. “Yeah… you’re right about that. All of it. Every last bit of it.”

“Thank you,” Shiro said, and pressed his hand to the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe he actually modeled for your class. Isn’t that, like, against the rules?”

“Yeah, Keith mentioned something about it… but it’s not like I’m planning on making a _scene_ or anything,” he insisted with a nervous laugh. “It’s, like… it’s not a problem! I don’t have a problem with it! So what if everyone in my class is staring at him for nearly nine hours a week? Right?”

Allura placed a gentle hand on Lance’s arm, giving him a soft pat. “Oh hun… It’s a problem. For you—not for him.”

“Keith can do whatever he wants,” he insisted, brushing her arm off his shoulder. “I mean, he was super excited about it so _duh,_ I’m gonna support him. Usually he’s hella stone-faced and shit, but it’s like he finds amusement in me suffering. And I mean, if me suffering means getting to see him naked for nine whole hours this week…”

Allura burst into giggles, throwing an arm around Lance and saying, “You’re the weakest human being I’ve ever met! Do you have pictures?”

“Oh my God,” Shiro whispered to himself, head now in his hands.

Lance turned pink and shook his head. “We aren’t allowed to use our phones during figure drawing sessions. Just drawings.”

“So you have drawings of him? Oh, come on. I bet they’re hella realistic if I’ve ever seen any of your drawings before,” she insisted, prodding him and leaning on him. He pointedly locked his phone and stuffed it in his pocket before she could ever get her hands on it. Shiro phased out of the conversation before it could get too out of hand, and eventually Allura dropped it as well. It didn’t stop Lance from thinking about it, though, or the drawings on his phone. 

Lance ate dinner with Pidge and, miraculously, managed not to say a word on the topic of Keith in the nude. She seemed to have enough on her mind as it was. “I just don’t think I care enough about shit to give a damn, you know?” she said.

“That’s… pretty obvious.”

“Well, you know what I mean,” she insisted. “Like… I just don’t give a shit half the time. I don’t give a shit how people view me because I have nothing to gain from them like everyone else. To people like _you_ or… you know… everyone you meet is a potential date or someone to get laid with so ya like to look nice. It explains why you always look good.”

Lance frowned and looked down at himself, brushing a hand over his patterned button up. “I… just threw this on…”

“But your whole wardrobe is meant to attract people without you even realizing it,” she insisted. “ _My_ whole wardrobe consists of sweatpants and sweatshirts because I don’t give a shit. You see what I mean now?”

“I… don’t—?”

She sighed, scraping her fork around on her plate. “Right, well… I _mean_ that I don’t give a shit about Shiro, so I don’t give a damn about how he feels right now. Or that I know he’s looking over here right now,” she said, and instantly Lance twisted around. She instantly hissed, shoulders bristling, “ _Don’t_ look _over there!_ Dammit, Lance!”

He followed Pidge’s nervous, hesitant gaze to where Shiro’s eyes quickly flickered away from them. The rest of the table was watching them though, and Nora waved enthusiastically at them. Lance smiled and waved before turning back around, and finding Pidge scowling at her food, her fingers twisting through her ginger braids that fluffed up around her ears. 

She glanced up guiltily at Lance from over the rim of her circle glasses. “Ok. Maybe I do care a little bit.”

“ _See?_ I _knew_ you considered him your friend,” he blurted out, slapping a hand on the table. “And I’d be pissed at him too! But I _live_ with the guy and half the time he can’t shut up about you. Even _Allura_ knows what happened.”

“Yeah… I told her a little bit. We’re friends on Snapchat,” she murmured, and after a moment of silence, Lance hummed to himself. Well, that explained how Allura knew Lance was handing out donuts that one day… “And anyways, I think she agrees with Shiro a bit. She thinks it’s weird that I don’t like guys or girls.”

“Well that’s ridiculous! Wait—no it’s not. Because it sounds like she gets around a lot, _but that’s completely besides the point_ ,” he insisted, waving his hand. “So what if she’s… ya know. And you’re… _not_ ya know. You know?”

“No. Just spit it out.”

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Literally why are you twelve years old. Just say sexually active and we can move on already,” she snapped, and when Lance snorted, she started giggling. In the next moment, she slapped him upside the head and said, “Focus. I mean, I _like_ Allura—I think she’s cool—but definitely _not_ when she’s starting to turn into a total bitch.”

“She isn’t a bitch though,” Lance insisted, and shrugged, “sort of like how Shiro isn’t necessarily an _asshole_. They just… can’t fit into your shoes, or Keith’s for that matter. Just… how do you change someone’s mind about something like that? I mean, _I’ve_ had problems with it and I still don’t know how to turn people around. Well, except proving you really love someone of the same sex to really get the point across, but we can’t really use that in this circumstance.”

He fell silent, rubbing his hand over his chin as Pidge studied her food. Eventually, she looked up at him, eyes squinty. “Wait—so are you suggesting we try to change the way they think? How would we do that?”

Lance thought for a moment as he scraped the remaining food on his plate into his mouth. He shrugged uselessly, but then paused, thinking. How did Pidge convince him—even if it was unintentionally? “I hit on you,” he murmured, and she quirked an eyebrow up at him. “I hit on you, and you were like ‘Hell no, I don’t swing that way,’ and you acted like that whenever a guy tried to hit on you after that. _Rollo_ tried to hit on you.”

“What are you saying?” she said, full attention on him. He was sure she regretted encouraging him the second his sly grin rose into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hella tired and barely managed to post this *insert nervous laughter on loop*
> 
> Let me know what you guys think, and also what you think Lance's plan is. Because I would like to know also *more nervous laughter*


	14. Where To Go In Search Of Platonic Cuddles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry 'bout the delayed post :O Our internet hasn't been working because I came back from uni and I've been absorbing all the wifi into the blackhole I call my laptop and Xbox.

Lance had classes until three the next day, but by that point Pidge had texted Shiro. Silently, he was dreading his drawing studio course that would come the following day, but for now… he just had to deal with this flimsy plan they had going. They barely had half of it together and it was already in motion. They hardly even had the staring roll—okay, so maybe they didn’t have the staring roll _at all_.

Which was why Lance was meeting Hunk at Starbucks and treating him to a coffee where they could talk to Keith from over the espresso machine. 

“So your roommate, who is… also an RA…” Hunk started, and Lance nodded along with him. Keith glimpsed over at them as he rinsed out a cup in the nearby sink. “… Doesn’t think Pidge is valid and to validate her in his eyes… you want me— _me_ —to stalk her.”

“It sounds like a shit plan but I think it might work,” Keith said, though scowled as he looked at Lance, “Though I still think we should have kidnapped Shiro.”

“As if _that_ would blow over well,” he scoffed.

“As if stalking someone _will_ blow over well?” Hunk laughed nervously. “I may have been in theatre in high school, but I’m not even sure my acting skills are up for any Oscars when it comes to playing the part of a stalker. Look, I’m sure Pidge is a nice girl and all, but I really think if you just _talked_ to your roommate—”

“Been there done that. It’s like getting in an argument with your Republican parents about liberal ideals,” Lance confessed with a sigh. “But this isn’t nearly as dramatic, trust me. Shiro means well. He’s just… stubborn. I guess.”

“But _stalking_? Seriously?” Hunk complained, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t want to have sexual assault charges on my record, man.”

“Dude, Pidge knows the plan and she knows you’re a nice guy. She won’t press charges on you, God. That’s why we’re discussing the plan first,” Lance explained rapidly. “And we’re still figuring out the details, but _hopefully_ Shiro will see that Pidge is uncomfortable about shit like that, and boom! we’re golden.”

“‘Figuring out the details’ is an understatement,” he whined, scratching the back of his head. He hissed out his breath through his teeth. “And I mean, _anyone_ would be uncomfortable being stalked, not just Pidge. You’d have to have it, like… more personal, you know? Like, an accidental date scenario.”

“Accidental date? With _Shiro_? That would be a disaster. _And_ he has a girlfriend,” Keith commented as he snuck over to them again to slide a drink onto the counter. After he called the name of the customer, he turned to them and said, “But if you had an accidental double-date scenario…?”

Lance considered the idea. He glanced momentarily at Hunk, who shrugged and murmured, “I dunno. Seems like a more positive option depending on which way this is gonna go.” Keith agreed with him, and recommended they stop _loitering around_ before his boss came to kick his ass. Lance fist-bumped him from across the counter before walking off with Hunk towards the exit. 

Lance was almost certain that this was a task set for someone _other_ than him. Who was he to know what was best for Pidge? And since she seemed more or less indifferent about “winning back” Shiro, it was just him and Keith and Hunk against the ignorant. Well, at least she agreed to _trying_ , so it wasn’t like they were forcing her to re-befriend Shiro against her will. In all honesty, Lance was starting to become furious with not just her, but Shiro as well. Lately he hardly felt like holding up a decent conversation with _his own roommate_. Half the time Lance ended up too exhausted to finish what they were talking about, and just collapsed onto the couch in a blanket burrito because the heating still refused to work, and the cold shriveled up any motivation he had left. 

When Lance and Hunk parted ways—under the condition that when Keith and Lance figured out what the hell was going on, they’d contact Hunk—Lance wandered back to Kingsley feeling gross and angry and annoyed. He needed a shower. He wanted to smell like fresh lavender and _Ocean Spay_ shampoo. 

So the second he waltzed through the door to his dorm, he kicked off his shoes, tossed his portfolio bag and backpack onto the futon, and yanked his shirt off over his head. Shiro wasn’t around— _probably hanging out with Allura_ , Lance bitterly fumed—so he went ahead and stripped down to his boxers before rifling around in his desk for the speaker he often used in the bathrooms. 

Somehow he was still jittery about Keith. He just saw The Guy in a normal, every-day setting. It was a miracle Lance hadn’t thought about the day before for even a second while he and Hunk talked to Keith. Lance paused just before entering the bathroom, thinking, _Yeah, no, don’t think about_ that _right now_.

The bathrooms were empty, and the crappy showers were cleaner than usual—they were probably just washed before Lance got there, so the residents didn’t have time to trash the place. He flicked on the light to the shower stall before turning on his music, setting the speaker over his head onto the stall ledge alongside his phone. The music echoed off the muddy brown, tiled walls, and Lance’s voice eventually synchronized with it. The acoustics in the men’s bathroom were always the greatest, in Lance’s opinion, which just meant he had all the more reason to sing to his heart’s content.

He remembered the day he and Keith studied together—well, _Keith_ studied while Lance just provided the back massage. It was ridiculous because there was music playing from Lance’s list, which eventually drifted into the recommended stations—mostly Mexican music that only he knew the lyrics to. It wasn’t that he was fluent or anything, but after listening to the same songs over and over again with his family, it was easy to just… belt it out, or improvise along the way.

He remembered how startled Keith had been—and then he just _laughed_ so hard tears dampened the corners of his eyes while Lance sang dramatically to him, completely distracting Keith from his homework. 

And then Keith was naked in the middle of the fucking studio.

 _Shit_.

  


  


How was it possible to feel this guilty?

Lance’s brain was tormenting again. And here he thought his sleep schedule was back to normal—hell no. Not anymore. He barely slept more than two hours that night, fretting over the fact that he’d see Keith again that day during studio class. Fretting over the fact that Keith was this perfect, untainted, pure being with an absurd level of sass and sarcasm. Fretting over the fact that Lance just… _wasn’t_ that. 

He worried about this before, before they even started officially dating. He worried about how he just… wasn’t cut out for a relationship void of the affection he was used to, but everything seemed fine! He didn’t mind it as much as he thought he would. Being with Keith was _fun_ and _exciting_ , and who knew what they were going to do next. That sort of spontaneity was addictive. 

_I don’t deserve him_ , he thought, pressing his palms to his eyes before dropping them with a sigh. He stared at the ceiling, and the street lights that glowed faintly where the curtain wasn’t completely closed. 

It was shitty of him to hope that every night he went to the Co-Op, he expected Keith to ask him if he wanted to stay over. He hadn’t realized it, but that was exactly what he was hoping. It pinched his chest and twisted every time it didn’t happen, and now he sat there, stupidly wondering what the problem was. The episode in the shower told him _exactly_ what his issue was.

The voice in his head sounded like Shiro, and it said, “Why would you want to date someone who refuses to show that they love you too?”

  


  


Lance _barely_ showed up to his drawing studio. _Barely_. He almost didn’t even walk into the building, and he wouldn’t have, had some of the students in his class not waltzed in, greeted him, and started talking to him like it was any other day walking up those flights of stairs to the studio. It must have been obvious that he hadn’t slept much, because one of the first things they said was, “Wow, you look awful. You want some of my coffee?”

“Um, yeah, actually. I could use it if you don’t mind,” he confessed, pushing his palm to one of his eyes as he accepted the mug with his other hand. He took a long sip and was about to hand it back with the girl shook her head and insisted he hang on to it. “You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I drink too much coffee as it is,” she confessed with a gentle smile as they wandered through the door of the studio together and took their usual seats. Lance pretty much chugged the coffee in hopes of staying alive for the day. He just needed to survive three hours of bliss drawing Keith and then he’d just have to… try desperately to scrape it from the walls of his mind where he probably Sharpied it permanently. Yeah. He could do it.

That day was honestly… easier than the first because he was expecting it. It didn’t change the fact that he almost fell asleep during the break period in between the two forty-five minute drawings. Even if it was fun, getting to draw his boyfriend for three whole hours, it _definitely_ didn’t change the fact that something was stuck in the back of Lance’s throat the whole time as he shaded in the velvet curves of fabric draped over the cushions of the lounging chair Keith sat on, on the edge of the spotlight. It was all deep tones of red and creamy white. Black.

His professor had some of the spotlights turned off, creating a semi-backlit scene consisting of Keith’s hair being enveloped in a halo where the stray strands fell away from the rest. His cheekbone highlighted, his brow, his eyes on the ceiling. He was completely motionless and pale like a corpse. Lance could see the gentle rise and fall of his chest, though, when he focused enough on it. Keith’s torso was mostly washed over in soft highlights, across his hips and legs that lay partially off the couch. 

When the timer went off, and they heard the class collectively set their pencils down, Keith moved and stepped off the platform to fetch his robe. Lance busied himself with putting away his supplies and shit while his professor flicked on the lights.

“Next class we’ll be doing two hour-and-a-half, full color pencil drawings. I recommend—if you haven’t already—purchasing the Prismacolor seventy-nine set at the bookstore. I admit, they’re expensive, so if you’d like, you can split the cost between two people and share a set. No more than two, though,” she told them all, and Lance found himself agreeing to split a set with the girl next to him. 

Before leaving, Lance gave her half his share so she could buy the pencils. He returned the mug to the girl who offered it to him. Or, at least, he must have done both of those things because he couldn’t really remember. He blanked on everything up until the point where he found Keith next to the bubbler, a self-satisfied grin on his face. 

“You look like shit,” he commented, pushing off the wall to meet Lance. “Tired?”

“Uh, yeah. Exhausted,” he confessed, rubbing a hand down the side of his face. 

He hadn’t realized he was looking around in a panic until Keith pointed it out. “You _seriously_ look paranoid right now. What’s the problem?” he asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets. When Lance finally managed to look at Keith again, he was scowling at Lance. It was irrational of him to think, _Oh shit, he knows_ , but his brain thought it anyway and sent him into a panic. The lump in his throat only seemed to get bigger. 

“Can we… Um, c-can we talk?” Lance stammered out, feeling lightheaded as he said it. Wow, that was definitely _one way_ to sound like he was in pain.

He couldn’t quite look at Keith, so he wasn’t able to gauge what his reaction was aside from a simple, “Yeah, sure. Let’s go out back.”

They barely made it out of the distant stairwell before Lance broke down in tears. It just made him feel worse because he really shouldn’t be acting like that. He was being ridiculous. This was stupid. Why was he fucking crying about something so _irrelevant_? Rationally he knew it was his lack of sleep causing him to implode, but he couldn’t even explain _that_ for another five minutes after they got outside and Keith put his arms around Lance the entire time. 

They hugged until Lance finally managed to say, “S-Sorry. Sometimes when I don’t sleep I get emotional.”

“Well no shit,” Keith sighed against his shoulder. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

Lance exhaled shakily, pulling himself away from Keith to clear up the tears freezing on his cheeks. His nose felt numb and gross. “R-Remember when you and Shay tested me that night we ate banana bread and stuff?” he asked, and Keith nodded, folding his arms over his chest with his scarf pushed up over his mouth. “And I _totally_ w-would have stayed the night if I was more prepared for it. A-And I still think… I would? You know?”

Keith shook his head, brow tense now.

“I just feel really guilty because I don’t think I’m c-cut out for a relationship with you. Y-You’re, like, _so_ perfect. _So perfect_. And I feel disgusted by some of the things I think and how I sometimes f-feel about you because I-I’m not a _virgin_ like you—”

“Wait, you think I’m a virgin? Is that the problem?” Keith said.

“ _No_ , that’s not what I meant and—Wait, you’re not?” he blurted out before he could stop himself. He slapped his hand over his mouth. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that. That’s super personal.”

It was so fucking cold out that the tears that collected on Lance’s eyelashes were starting to freeze over. And it was a surprise that Lance was ever able to look Keith in the eye long enough to see how glassy they were, too. Keith looked away, fidgeting on his feet before he shrugged. “Yeah. I’ve had sex before and I don’t like it,” he said bluntly. “So if that’s the problem—”

“No, it isn’t. I don’t—I’m not _worried_ about that,” Lance insisted. “I’m just afraid that… I’ll take advantage of you and not realize it. And I love how things are, but I-I dunno. I feel like I can’t _touch_ you without feeling like I’m _tainting_ you. I just… sometimes I wish I could kiss you and I miss cuddling with people and Shiro doesn’t really appreciate it most days. He d-doesn’t understand platonic cuddling so well.”

“As one does.”

Lance found himself laughing despite himself. He started tearing up again, and held his hands over his face. “I-I’m sorry—I keep c-crying—”

“Dude it’s fine. You seriously need to sleep,” Keith laughed, and his hands fell over Lance’s wrists to pull them away from his face. Lance nodded weakly, aware that when he cried he often smiled because he couldn’t help it. So he smiled painfully and let Keith brush away his tears with his fingerless gloves. “And I’m serious. I’d be down for some platonic cuddling if you wanted to come by the Co-Op now.”

“R-Really?” 

Keith laughed. “Yeah, you idiot.”

So they went back to the Co-Op, during which time Lance managed to calm down enough to recognize the weight lifting from his chest. There was no longer someone pinching a valve of his heart closed, or tightening his throat. Even if he still felt like he didn’t deserve Keith, he tried to make his sleep-deprived brain think otherwise as they walked past all the signs out front. Keith pushed the door open and dramatically greeted the people in the living room as he led the way to his hallway. Lance rested his portfolio bag against the wall behind the door in Keith’s room, and instantly felt out of place. Like he wasn’t allowed in here. 

But then Keith kicked off his shoes, tossed his bag, and collapsed onto the bed. “You know I feel so clean. ‘Cause ya can’t just waltz into a nude modeling gig without taking an hour-long shower I swear to _God_ ,” he said with a groan, rolling over and pushing himself up so he could slouch against the headrest after retrieving his laptop from the floor. “What’re you doing over there for? Get over here.”

Lance lazily pushed off his shoes and jacket, and unraveled his scarf before crawling onto the red comforter. Keith pulled back the blankets for him, closest to the wall where there was a body pillow cushioning his back. Lance sniffed as he crawled under the blankets and gingerly leant over Keith to press his head to Keith’s raised chest. Keith’s arm went around his shoulders, so he wrapped his own arms over Keith’s torso and avoided the laptop he had resting on his lap. 

Lance was out cold in a matter of seconds after closing his eyes.

  


  


He was entirely, wholly, disoriented when he woke up again. 

His cheeks still felt tight from crying earlier that day, but that was at… three in the afternoon. It was dark in the room now so he couldn’t really see much aside from Keith’s laptop lying open off to the side, still on and facing them. It was just Tumblr, and it illuminated the comforter that Lance associated with Keith’s room. He was lying in Keith’s bed.

After a moment, he stretched his legs out and found them tangled with Keith’s. He pressed his head against Keith’s chest before looking up and seeing that his boyfriend was still asleep. His arm was lazily dropped to the side, and he was partially folded over the pillows when he slouched.

Lance reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. It was nearly eight—which meant… he missed the chance to eat in the dining hall, and had twenty missed calls from Pidge. He listened to the voicemail that shouted, “ _I missed my usual dinner time because of you! I didn’t want to sit with the enemy. Prepare to get your ass kicked when you call me back_.”

“That Pidge?” Keith asked with a yawn, pushing himself up. “Were you just talking to her?”

“No, she just called me. Voicemail,” Lance said, voice unintentionally hoarse. He cleared his throat as he folded his legs, the comforter pushing back. “I missed dinner.”

“Shit, sorry. We have an excellent supply of wholewheat bread and chunky peanut butter, plus Shay’s mom makes the _best_ strawberry jam,” he said, and Lance laughed a little, and spared a glance over at Keith. He was studying Lance, and reached out to pull Lance by the hand. “Do you feel better though? After taking a… five hour nap?”

Lance nodded, grinning wider at how ridiculous that was. If college taught him one thing, it was the necessity for naps every now and then. 

They wandered out of the room and into the cold of the remainder of the house. Keith held onto his hand on the way to the kitchen until he had to get the supplies out for sandwiches. Lance went to the fridge and pulled out the mason jar of jam. There was a plate labeled “EVERYONE” which Keith pulled out and checked. He scooped the tuna salad onto two plates and put the rest in the fridge. 

When they returned to the comfort of Keith’s room, Keith hesitated to eat as they sat side-by-side against the headrest. “What is it?” Lance asked.

“I was scared you were gonna break up with me today,” he confessed, eyes on his desk across the room. 

“Same here,” Lance admitted, which drew Keith’s eyes over to him. “But I thought you were gonna be the one to break up with me. ‘Cause I’m a hormonal ass.”

“You aren’t,” he insisted, and Lance just gave him a dull look before going back to eating. “It’s normal. Just… tell me if I’m doing something wrong because this isn’t _just_ about me. It’s about you, too. Neither of us are the center of anything.”

“That’s kind of cynical.”

“But it’s true because relationships aren’t the center of the universe, you know. There’s bigger things to worry about than whether or not I fuck people, or care about cuddling and shit,” he explained, and started eating. After a moment of listening to the music from his laptop, he said, “Guess that’s a pretty good description of me. Indifferent to a lot of things.”

“You make it sound like you’re not passionate about anything. You like plants, though, right? Otherwise you wouldn’t be majoring in environmental science.”

“I care about the planet, not the people on it. We’re all parasites killing our host,” he explained. “And it’s stupid to think we can do anything to fix what we’ve done in the immediate future. It really… pisses me off sometimes.”

“Understandably so. So you aren’t indifferent about everything,” Lance said. “And I know you care about Nyma and Shay. If you’re worried that you’re a psychopath or something…”

Keith’s scowl broke into a grin, and he looked at Lance, giggling, “I’m _not_ a psychopath. I _swear it_.”

“Then is it cool if I look under your bed or in your closet?” he asked jokingly. As they both fell into a fit of giggling, Lance continued to shout, “S-So maybe you being a nude model is your way of luring beautiful young women into traps and _killing them!_ ”

“It is not!”

“Is to! I’m your first victim, aren’t I?” 

Keith shoved down his plate and dove across the bed to tackle Lance. Lance let out a high-pitched shriek and pulled his plate out of the way as Keith shoved him in the face and clamored on top of him. They were both yelling by the time a knock sounded on the door, and a moment later it creaked open. Lance peered around Keith’s bum where it was blocking the view of Shay looking in, startled. 

“Uh…” she started. “What the hell is going on? If I didn’t know it was Keith living here I would have suspected you two were having sex.”

“Fuck off Shay,” Keith muttered, pushed Lance’s face into the pillows again because he was laughing so hard, and then rolled off to snatch his plate. He grabbed the remainder of his sandwich and bit into it, mumbling around the bread, “Your sass is not appreciated at this time.”

“It’s always appreciated,” Lance countered as he twisted around, arms throwing over his head with a groan.

“Aw, thanks Lance. Also, hi Lance!” she said, flashing him a wide grin before scowling at Keith. “But seriously. Nyma’s been complaining asking where you are. We knocked on the door before but you didn’t answer.”

“Then what made you barge in this time?” Keith demanded.

“‘Cause y’all were making a racket! C’mon, Nyma needs your help.”

Keith sighed, frowning down at his sandwich before devouring it in one bite. Shay laughed, eyebrows up to her hairline at this point. At last, he twisted around to look at Lance, who was still sprawled out across the pillows. “Sorry. Got shit to do, so I’m gonna ditch you,” he said.

“That’s fine. I should probably get back to Kingsley anyway,” Lance confessed. He swung his legs off the bed and landed them softly on the creaky wood flooring. Shay left and closed the door behind her while Lance went ahead and tugged up his boots. Just as he finished shrugging on his coat, Keith came over with the scarf and swept it around Lance’s neck. 

“In all honesty,” Keith started, folding his arms over his chest, “I’m glad we talk about shit. I mean—I haven’t been in many relationships, but… I like to know what you’re thinking.”

Pink dusted over Lance’s cheeks as he looked down at the ground, and busied himself with picking up his backpack. “Yeah, well… I like hearing how unbearably sassy you are in your head. Like—I can’t believe you thought I was on a date that one time you barged into the sushi place.”

Keith’s jaw dropped, and he promptly shoved Lance by the shoulders. “It was a valid assumption!” Lance giggled into his scarf, head ducked down so he didn’t quite see Keith come up to him until he had already pressed his lips to Lance’s forehead. “You’re a good guy, Lance. And if you ever think otherwise around me, know that… it’s okay. ‘Cause I’m not too great, either. We can fuck up together, all right?” 

They stared at one another while Lance’s brain imploded and he felt like his soul just transcended into space because _how on Earth could someone like Keith exist?_ All that came out of his mouth was a nervous squeak, which caused Keith to laugh and flick Lance upside the head. “And if I ever make you uncomfortable, tell me. I… probably shouldn’t have let my instructor sign me up for your class. So I’m sorry about that.”

“What? Are you regretting modeling for my class?” Lance asked, startled. “You like it, don’t you?”

“Well— _Yeah_ , I do, but clearly I made you uncomfortable—”

“Don’t worry about me! I love drawing you, you know that,” he insisted, and was satisfied to see Keith go red at the cheeks, averting his eyes as he tried his best to suppress his smile. “And if I thought your _face_ was beautiful—Goddamn—”

“ _Lance_ , shut up,” Keith murmured, bumping his head onto Lance’s shoulder. They both laughed at one another, and talked in quiet tones through the house as Keith accompanied Lance to the front door. It was too cold now for Keith to escort him off the steps, so Lance held out his fist when they reached the foyer. Keith bumped it with his own, grinning as he promised, “I’ll text you. Think about what we’re gonna do this weekend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be multitasking now (as one does) because I'm gonna be a part of the [Supernova Big Bang](https://vldsupernovabang.tumblr.com/) and my fic idea has been eating me up inside. GAWD I'm so stoked for it. But if any of you guys like to write 50k+ stories, JOIN THE BIG BANG, or if ya like to art a lot (requirement is 10 pieces minimum) JOIN IT. I'm so excited for it 'cause it's my first one and I gotta go ALL OUT. SO. Just know that eventually a fantasy fic will be out in the wild and it'll be exCITING.
> 
> Also, don't forget to [holler at me on Tumblr](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/).


	15. Just A Regular Normal Movie Date Totally Ordinary

“I don’t understand Pidge at all,” Shiro ranted as he paced the floor of their dorm. Both Allura and Lance sat on the futon together while she mindlessly played Pokémon off of her pastel pink DS while simultaneously listening to Shiro. Lance was so enthralled by the game that he nearly missed what started the Pidge-topic in the first place.

Shiro hesitated, pressing his hands to his hair and groaning. “I haven’t talked to her in almost a week—she doesn’t answer her door when I knock—hasn’t even _opened_ my messages—”

“Kinda sounds like you’re _in looove_ …” Allura cooed, flopping to the side with a wide grin. 

Shiro scowled at her, his pink cheeks making it clear that he couldn’t _possibly_ take the joke. “Pidge is my _resident_ , first off, which means if anything happened between us I’d get fired. And second: We’re just friends, but she’s, like… she’s _awesome_ and all and she’s incredibly smart and she’s in one of my classes because our majors overlap in that regard and all the TAs _love her_ but she _hates me_. She hates me! Why would she text me? I don’t understand.”

“Jesus, I was just kidding,” Allura murmured to Lance, laughing quietly to herself. 

Lance shrugged and said, “He can’t really take sarcasm sometimes.”

“Why weren’t the two of you at dinner yesterday anyway?” Shiro demanded of Lance, who jumped to attention, eyes wide at being called out so quickly. He hoped no one would notice, considering how panicked Pidge was about having to skip her regular mealtime to avoid sitting with the others.

“Uh…” he started, nervous. “I-I don’t know. I was at the Co-Op.”

“Then where was Pidge?”

“Christ, Shiro, why are you getting so worked up over her?” Allura asked, eyes on her game as she fiddled around with the buttons. “I’ve sorta picked up on the fact that she doesn’t care about you, so why should you care about her?”

Shiro fell silent for a moment, and the longer he thought, the more his feet started to ache to move again. He started pacing all over again, and Allura muttered something under her breath about how Shiro just “needed to relax.” Lance leant back against the futon cushion, his head tipped towards Allura’s shoulder as Shiro continued to panicked. Sure, Lance _knew_ that some part of Shiro was obsessed with Pidge, but he never suspected that Shiro would act like this just from a few texts from Pidge. 

After a moment, Lance asked, “So what’d she say? Can I see?”

“No.”

“Oh my God, Shiro,” Allura complained. “Just show him the damn text. They aren’t bad.” She turned to Lance, and added, “I helped him reply ‘cause he was having a meltdown or something.”

“Was _not_ ,” Shiro snapped, and Allura giggled to herself, biting her tongue cheekily. He jokingly glared at her as he opened his phone and held it out to Lance. 

  


**Pidge:** _Hey Shiro I feel bad about blowing up at you. How’s your face?_

**Shiro:** _Hi again. My face is fine, but I would like to know what I did to deserve it._

**Pidge:** _Ha, yeah, I’m sure you do. We should hang out some time._

  


Lance stared at the texts for a moment longer before blurted out, “Seriously? That’s it? You didn’t reply back? That was _yesterday_.”

“I panicked,” Shiro confessed.

“He wouldn’t let me help him,” Allura said pointedly. Lance rolled his eyes, and while Shiro let out a distressed gasp and tried his best to defend himself, Lance smiled giddily to himself. They hadn’t exactly planned for _this_ to happen. Lance wasn’t entirely sure _how_ Shiro would react, but now… this was _way_ better than he anticipated. 

While Shiro and Allura argued with one another, Lance checked his phone and searched through movie times before he decided to interrupt them. “Well, if you’re so worried about hanging out with Pidge on your own, we should… all go to the movies some time,” Lance suggested, which caused them both to fall silent.

Eventually Allura looked up at Shiro and shrugged, “I think the movies would be great. You wouldn’t have to talk to her and start another fight.”

“I _am_ worried about starting another fight…” Shiro agreed, and slapped down his arms. “Well, she kind of makes it hard to avoid fights when we argue all the time.”

“You do love arguing with people,” Lance murmured as he glanced at Allura pointedly, as if to point out that they had just been arguing no more than a minute ago. She looked down guiltily, but smiled all the same. “So movies? I’ll take care of inviting Pidge, and I have a friend who wants to see the new _Pirates of the Caribbean_.”

“Oh God, please no,” Allura begged. “I can’t stand how many movies they’ve made.”

“They’re excellent, what are you talking about?” Shiro said, and before she could prompt another verbal fight, he said, “Are you gonna invite Keith?”

“Uh… No. He doesn’t like going to the movies. He has the attention span of a peanut,” Lance lied. He was thankful the conversation didn’t stick to him then, and instead they started to arrange the details on their night out. It took some convincing for Lance to stop Shiro from inviting the whole Kingsley Gang, but that seemed to be the only hiccup. 

  


  


They hardly suspected that Lance would ditch last minute and leave Shiro to sigh as they stood outside of the movie theatre, lowering his phone into his pocket as he told the group, “Lance isn’t coming. Keith pulled another one of his ‘spontaneous date’ schemes.”

“Aw, that’s too bad,” Allura murmured.

“I mean—you guys still want to see the movie, right?” Pidge said, nodding towards the marquee showing the titles that included, but was not limited to, _Pirates of the Caribbean: Blade of Galra Steel_.

“Hell yeah! I’ve waited a decade for this,” Hunk said from where he stood beside her, wrapped up in a golden scarf and hat. He stepped towards the door and held it open for them. “Shall we?”

He gestured them inside and wandered in after Pidge. He winked at her, and she grinned discretely to herself before donning that familiar scowl that they all knew too well. And as they entered the lobby of the theatre, she looked up to find Shiro glancing back at her from where he had his arm around Allura. She pointedly looked away, aware that something in her chest always twisted uncomfortably whenever she saw public displays of affection. It had nothing to do, necessarily, with handholding versus kissing, but… it still made her cringe like hearing nails against a chalkboard for next to no reason at all. She couldn’t control how irrational she got when she heard people chew food too loud, or hearing people vomit in much the same way she couldn’t control how irrationally furious she got when people kissed in public and she could hear the obvious _smack_ of their lips separating—

She visible shuddered at it, and Hunk asked, “You okay?”

They were stuck in line, and Shiro and Allura were having their own little conversation. So Pidge murmured, “Yeah, I’m fine. Just pissed off is all. So how do you know Lance?”

“Economics. I know—boring. But it’s easy and it’ll up my GPA. How do you know him?” he asked.

“Welcome Week,” she confessed with a wince. “He hit on me and now we’re friends.”

“Irony.”

“Tell me about it.”

They both laughed a little before Pidge cleared her throat and scowled. “I’m supposed to hate you. Shut up.” Hunk chuckled to himself, looking away with a roll of his eyes. She gave him a tug on his jacket, silently telling him that he had to stand closer if he ever planned on making her look uncomfortable with all of this. 

Regardless of whether or not Pidge was on board with this, she couldn’t ignore how much her skin crawled when people touched her. It was tolerable with Hunk—for whatever reason, the big guy just seemed like one huge, harmless teddy bear. She wondered if Hunk was even capable of looking threatening, but… with how many times Shiro looked back at them, she convinced herself that anyone was capable of looking threatening, even Hunk. 

So she let Hunk offer to pay for her soda because he had a dollar off coupon or some shit, which she declined. She let Shiro ask Hunk how old, exactly, was he? Which Hunk replied with, “Eighteen.” Pidge was so certain that Shiro was prepared to flaunt the fact that she was just seventeen, but the words shriveled up in his mouth the second he caught sight of Pidge’s warning glare.

_Yeesh, Lance was right. He_ is _acting weird_ , she thought to herself as Shiro hovered nearby the soda machine. 

Hunk plucked her cup out of her hand and said, “Let me take care of this. I am the _expert_ at making suicides.”

“Suicides?” she repeated, eyebrow quirking up as she stepped to the side to avoid Hunk’s work.

“It’s a type of soda drink,” Shiro explained, and Allura added, “You know—Where you mix a ton of sodas together.” She tossed a bit of popcorn into her mouth before reaching around to pop a piece into Shiro’s mouth. Pidge inadvertently gagged—usually she just did it comically, but she forgot that she wasn’t around Lance or Keith or her high school friends who understood the joke. 

Hunk tapped on her shoulder, so she turned around and found the cup held up to her. He twisted the straw around to face her and said, “Try it—make sure it tastes good.”

She held onto the cup around Hunk’s larger, tanned fingers and pulled the straw into her mouth. She sipped it and hummed in approval, and as Hunk removed a hand to place it on Pidge’s upper back, someone blurted out, “ _Hunk?_ ” 

Pidge perked up, and saw a look of pale dread wash over Hunk’s face. She blinked and turned around, trying to find the culprit of the annoyed exclamation—her attention turned to a girl with fluffy brunette bangs and long, fluffy hair. She stood alongside a beautiful, angelically pale girl with the longest blonde hair Pidge had ever seen—Shay and Nyma.

“Whoa, Pidge!” Nyma blurted out. They were waiting in line for their tickets, but Nyma leapt straight over the red rope to race towards them. “What’re you doing here?”

“Uh…” she droned, looking between Hunk and Shay before noticing that both Shiro and Allura looked startled by the intrusion.

Shay stormed over, and Hunk looked visibly sick. He dropped his hand from Pidge’s back, and practically hugged the soda cup to his chest as she snapped at him, “ _See!_ I _told you_ he harasses girls! Nyma, you saw him!”

“Jesus Christ,” Pidge muttered under her breath, pressing a hand to her forehead.

As Nyma hissed between her teeth, shaking her head, Allura stepped up, hand on her hip while the other held on to her popcorn container. “Excuse me, but who are you two? How do you know Pidge and Hunk?”

“I _don’t_ harass girls,” Hunk insisted, which just led Shay to yank Pidge by the arm and towards them. She squeaked in surprise, and Hunk reached out to hold on to her free hand. He pulled on her, but Shay just held on tighter. 

Shay leaned over Pidge to hiss, “Then stop fucking touching them, you pervert.”

“Holy shit what is going on?” Allura blurted out, her annoyance showing on her tense expression, eyes flickering between the four of them before she said, “Who do you think you are? Accusing people like that?”

“You want to explain or should I?” Hunk snapped at Shay, pulling on Pidge’s arm. “Because _clearly_ you think Allura would be more likely to believe the account of a girl over an innocent guy.”

Shay gawked at him, jaw dropping before her fury damn near ruptured through her ears in clouds of steam. “I do _not_ think that!” she shouted. “I believe what I see—”

“And at what point did you ever see me harass a girl?”

“Just now! You’re making Pidge uncomfortable—”

“Right now, _everyone_ is making me uncomfortable!” Pidge shrieked, voice high-pitched and panicked. Hunk instantly dropped her hand, as if just now realizing he was holding her in a death grip. Shay’s fingers left behind red marks on her pale wrists. Pidge reached for her soda cup and yanked it forcefully away from Hunk as she stared at the ground, scowling. “I don’t know Hunk very well, but I _know_ he doesn’t harass girls. We planned to make it look like I was uncomfortable around him, so he must have been doing his job right.”

Hunk rubbed his hand over his forehead, and sighed as he stared at the ceiling, aware that everyone was more or less confused at the both of them now. Pidge breathed out shakily and looked at Shiro, whose eyebrows raised at her.

“It was Lance’s idea. We were gonna try and _show you_ how uncomfortable people make me when they harass me and shit. But I don’t know how… more _obvious_ I have to be to convince you that I’m ace! Because no one likes to be harassed, not just me, so the plan was shit from the start—no offense Hunk. You’re awesome.”

Hunk scuffed his shoes on the carpet. “Thanks Pidge,” he murmured, blushing.

“I don’t understand,” Shiro murmured, brow tense. “What’s the point?”

“The _point_ , Shiro,” she hissed out, “is that I’m _pissed at you_. You can’t just _force someone_ to try something they’re uncomfortable with! It’s like… forcing someone who doesn’t like tea to start drinking tea every fucking day to get used to it. I won’t get used to it! I don’t _want_ to get used to it! I’m a coffee person not a tea person, and no amount of tea is gonna change that.”

“So we were hoping that… you’d call me out at some point tonight,” Hunk continued when Pidge fell silent. He scratched the back of his head nervously, looking away from them. “‘Cause we sort of… planned an accidental double-date scenario. Lance’s idea, again. He and Keith should be walking in soon, ‘cause they wanted to snoop.”

“Yeah—they were planning a date this weekend,” Nyma commented, and smirked a little. “This is definitely the kind of date material Keith’s looking for. A stakeout.”

Shay snorted and quietly agreed with her. She let out a soft sigh and said, “So… what movie are you guys seeing? Mind if we see it with you?”

“Yeah, maybe we could surprise Keith and Lance,” Allura suggested, and instantly Shay and Nyma were all about the idea. They hurried to grab their tickets, and agreed to meet them in the theatre.

On the way to the theatre, Hunk fell in step with Allura to plot on how to surprise Keith and Lance, which allowed Shiro to catch up with Pidge. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and remained nervously quiet until Pidge murmured, “The plan didn’t really work out. Sorry for dragging you here.”

“It’s fine. I’m just… glad you’re talking to me again,” he confessed, and Pidge’s cheeks heated up as she turned away. That would _definitely_ be something he’d pester her about. Thankfully, he didn’t bring it up. “And I’m sorry. For making you uncomfortable at the party. And any other time before or after that.”

She scratched the back of her neck, smiling softly. “Thanks, Shiro. I _might_ just forgive you now.”

“Oh come on,” he laughed. “I won’t try to convince you to drink tea any more.”

She snorted and threw her head back laughing. She elbowed him in the side, and joked around with him as they got to the theatre and picked a spot to sit. Allura squeezed passed them to claim Shiro’s other side, and Hunk settled in to the seat beside Pidge. He winked at her, and she grinned back. She couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

  


  


Lance pulled Keith by the hand as they hurried down the hall in search of Theatre Number Five. Keith looked _killer_ in his tight black jeans and jazzy oxford shoes with his leather jacket to match. It was impossible _not_ to notice him, or the fact that the girl at the cash register couldn’t seem to stop staring and stuttering over her words around Keith. It was flattering to know that Keith dressed up for the occasion because they both considered it a date. When Lance initially commented on it, Keith said, “Good fucking thing you like it ‘cause I dressed up for you, you idiot.”

Keith tugged on the back of Lance’s sweater as they approached the closed door to the theatre. “You think the movie’s started yet?” he whispered, and Lance shushed him with, “Yeah, probably—so be quiet!” Keith flicked him in the back of the head, but continued to let Lance hold onto his arm as they snuck into the theatre in search of the row number Hunk gave them to sit in. 

They snuck in a few seats before settling down. Keith lowered the armrest and leaned against it, kicking his feet up on the chair in front of him. His fancy shoes were slightly pointed, and his face was washed over in the red from the fire blazing on screen. He met Lance’s eyes for a moment before leaning over and whispering, “Do you see them anywhere?”

“Uh—No—”

“Then stop fucking looking at me and look for them, you dingus.”

Lance mockingly scowled at him before turning around to glance over the people in front of them. The moment he did, though, someone burst up from underneath the seats in front of them with a whispered shout of “ _Surprise!_ ” 

Lance shrieked, slapping his hands over his mouth as he cowered back against his seat and Keith’s shoulder. The people nearest them turned around to glare at them before returning their attention tot he movie. The light from the screen caught on their long hair and Nyma’s ponytail, and the fact that this _clearly_ wasn’t a part of their plan. “ _Shay?_ Nyma? What are you guys doing here?” Keith whispered, sitting up straighter as the girls climbed over the seats and into their row. 

Johnny Depp, with his luscious gray hair and fake dreadlocks, came on screen as Shay jabbed her thumb towards it and said, “We’re just here for the movie. Saw you two come in.”

Keith narrowed his eyes up at Shay, folding his arms. “You don’t even _like_ Johnny Depp.”

She plopped down next to him and gave him a pat on the arm, and a dazzling smile. “Heard it got good reviews, so I’m here. Popcorn?” She barely got around to holding out the popcorn container when Lance saw something light up red behind them as the theatre screen shifted. 

He swore it looked like the evil glint of someone’s glasses.

Strong arms swept around Lance’s neck, and it was a good thing his hands were already over his mouth, otherwise he would have screamed twice as loud. He recognized the mango scent of Shiro, who squeezed Lance around the head before letting go and clapping his hands onto his shoulders.

Shiro dipped between them and said, hushed, “Heard you two were trying to trick me.”

Keith’s eyebrow raised as he twisted around, shaking a finger. “No tricking. This wasn’t a trick.”

“It was a bit of a trick,” Allura replied in a whisper with an innocent shrug. From beside her, Hunk climbed over the seat and plopped down next to Lance with a sigh. “But it worked,” she added, tapping Lance on the back of the head before following Hunk’s lead.

Everyone gathered into the row, sharing popcorn throughout the movie until Pidge was sucking up air through the straw of her large soda. Lance continued to lean against Keith’s shoulder through the movie, and shared his soda with him. His attention was divided among everyone, aware that Shiro and Pidge sat together, whispering to one another about this-or-that. 

They seemed happy, so Lance settled in and told himself that he’d worry about what happened later. For now, he’d just worry about what the fuck was happening in _Pirates of the Caribbean_.

After the movie though, when they were all congregating out in the lobby while Pidge went to steal more soda from the machine, Hunk dropped his arm around Lance’s shoulders and said, “Well… I guess it sorta worked out.”

Keith said, “Yeah, if that’s what you wanna call it. What the hell happened?”

At this, Shay flinched a little from where she stood alongside Nyma and Allura. She grimaced at them and raised her hand weakly. “I… _may_ or may not have yelled at Hunk.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Keith sighed, letting his head fall back on his shoulders before he rolled his neck and scowled at her. “What’d you do?”

“ _Nothing!_ ” she cried out, but Nyma elbowed her in the side. “But… I should probably apologize, Hunk. That was kinda bitchy of me, calling you out like that.”

“You thought Pidge was in danger. I understand,” he confessed with a soft smile. He shot finger-guns at Pidge as she returned with the soda. She beamed at him and gave him a fist-bump. Lance glanced at Keith, and the moment Keith looked over at him, he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. That just earned him an elbow to the gut.


	16. Fancy Socializing In Fancy Restaurants

Pidge came to Lance’s dorm after studying in the lounge with the rest of the Kingsley Gang. She hardly even knocked—just swung right in and startled Lance into scribbling a line across his art history notes. He slapped his hand down in annoyance, and turned to glare at her as she dropped into the futon with an annoyed groan. The door to the room slammed shut, and probably pissed off every single neighbor near them. 

“Oops, sorry,” she said absently, scratching at her messy hair before twisting around to face Lance. “You know Allura’s a helicopter girlfriend?”

“Um, no? What makes you say that?” Lance snorted. The idea seemed weird. Sure, she was loud and outgoing and spent every waking… moment… in their dorm—but _some people were like that_! There wasn’t anything _he_ found weird about it, especially since he spent all of his childhood constantly being followed by his siblings.

Pidge sighed, pulling a leg up onto the cushion as she said, “Well, for one, she babysits Shiro and I.”

“Really? No, she just wants to hang out with you guys.”

“Yeah, but there’s no way Shiro would initiate that sort of contact on a regular basis. The guy has to be reminded to say ‘Hello’ sometimes,” she rationalized, and Lance couldn’t really argue with that. He always figured it was because they lived together and saw each other every day that Shiro just… forewent the formalities of greeting Lance every time he walked into the room. “She thinks I’m gonna steal Shiro from her,” Pidge concluded.

“ _What_? Pff, no. That’s just weird. You’re, like, two years younger than him.”

“No, you just think it’s weird because you _know_ that I would never. But _Allura_ doesn’t know that I would never,” she insisted, and he shrugged because it was clear now that Shiro was on board with Pidge being disinterested in most everything involving romance and sex. That much was clear during dinner when he’d stop Flerona and Rollo from retelling raunchy stories from the weekends as soon as Pidge started to fake-gag. He seemed to forget that pretending to gag was just a part of her humor, but either way she discretely appreciated the effort.

Lance’s phone buzzed on his desk, startling him out of the conversation. He reached for it, and instantly jolted from his chair. “ _Shit!_ Keith’s on his way!” he shouted, leg getting caught between his loft and the chair. He yelped, tripping forward and rolling onto the ground.

As he scrambled for his closet, Pidge sat, stunned, in the futon, before asking, “Um… why should you be worried?”

“Because I forgot today his class is meeting up for dinner! They’re all going out to eat at this snooty vegan restaurant Luxia eats at all the time,” Lance explained, kicking off his pajama pants. “ _Fuck!_ This is what happens when all his texts are limited to telling me the second he leaves the Co-Op. For fuck’s sake—”

“Why? It’s, like, _Sunday_ ,” she deadpanned. “And _midterms_. Like, _legit_ midterms. You know, the ones that come _before_ Thanksgiving?” 

“I _know_ , but last week was their last lesson because the instructor’s gonna be out of town. And she’s treating them all to dinner tonight before she heads out,” he explained, throwing on the closest patterned button-up and nice slacks. He tucked in the shirt hastily and looped a belt around his waist. Pidge watched him pace across the room, grab his wallet, stuff it into his coat pocket, and check himself in their floor length mirror. 

He texted Shiro, who got back to him saying to lock the door—Shiro had his own key in his backpack anyway. Pidge picked up her things and followed Lance to the door as he was saying, “And I mean, I wouldn’t normally go to a vegan restaurant if it meant I was going to pay. But Coran and Luxia offered to pitch in and they insisted us broke college students didn’t have to pay—”

He broke off into a startled yelp when the door swung open, and his boyfriend happened to be on the other side preparing to knock. Keith seemed just as startled, and Pidge gasped and muttered, “ _Fuck_ , you scared me.”

“I could say the same to you guys,” Keith commented. His lips parted into a breathtaking smile as he laughed, his slim brown eyes squinting at Lance as he reached an arm out wrapped it around Lance’s shoulders. “You look good.”

Lance was in such a daze that he dropped his keys. How was it possible that someone could look so perfect just saying the simplest things? And of all the rare times Keith complimented Lance, it was disgusted in an insult, or an off-hand remark that wasn’t meant to be translated and interpreted and made into something it wasn’t. His compliments were never so transparent as to cause Lance to drop his keys in surprise.

“You broke him,” Pidge laughed.

“He never compliments me,” he insisted, looking between the two of them and pointing a finger at Keith. “He just said I look good. Shouldn’t that be the other way around?”

“What do you mean?” Keith snorted. “That you look _bad_? Because you don’t.”

“He did it again!” Lance cried out, and Pidge snorted as she locked Lance’s door for him and muttered under her breath, “Who knew _you two_ could be such saps? I feel like I’m drowning in sugar right now.”

“I only say that you look good because you look like shit most days because you don’t sleep,” Keith corrected himself.

“Ah, yes, the salt is back. My favorite conversational seasoning,” she said as Lance moaned and groaned about Keith’s betrayal all the way down the hallway, and even after Pidge departed from them to go to her own room. He pretended to mope against Keith’s shoulder as they walked through the Kingsley parking lot, which was really an inconvenience for both of them because Keith kept squirming and trying to nudge Lance off of him.

Lance clung onto him whining, “I don’t look terrible, do I…?” until Keith jammed his shoulder against Lance’s cheek. “ _Ouchie!_ I bit my cheek!” he yelped, his hold loosening just enough for Keith to squeeze through it.

“I warned you, like, six times,” Keith said with an innocent shrug. He shook out his arms and huffed out, “God—You have octopus arms.”

“ _Yeah_ , and you have a shoulder made out of those spikey rocks in that cartoon version of _Hercules_ ,” he complained, pushing a finger into his mouth and coming away with a bit of thin, transparent blood. Nothing awful, but it still tasted like he had a penny jammed against the inside of his cheek. 

“Ok. New rule: if I say ‘let go’ more than two times, I’m serious,” Keith said as he looked down at the helmet locked to the handle of Nyma’s moped. He jimmied it off and stuck it over his head, and Lance stood there dumbfounded for a solid minute while Keith settled onto the moped and waited for him. 

The last time Lance felt this uncomfortable around Keith, it was at the party when he thought he was _way_ in over his head, asking if he could paint the most beautiful man alive, right in front of his face. He felt like he wasn’t in any position to talk to Keith. And now…

“What?” Keith asked. “C’mon, we’re gonna be late.”

“I made you uncomfortable,” he said. 

“Dude it’s fine, whatever. Let’s go.”

“I can get clingy sometimes. I can stop if you want, it’s just… something my siblings do to me so… I get that it’s annoying sometimes,” he said, looking down at where his hands were now running up and down the ridges of his jacket zipper. 

Keith leaned over, and tapped his hand over Lance’s. “It’s fine. Really,” he insisted, and that smile was back. “God. Sometimes you take things so seriously.” He pulled on Lance’s hand and drew it around behind him so Lance could climb onto the back of Nyma’s vespa. He started up the engine after Lance settled in and wrapped his scarf over his mouth, and tugged his winter hat over his ears to ward off the chill. 

Riding a moped in the cold of winter wasn’t exactly one of Lance’s _favorite_ pastimes, but it got them to their destination faster, if not with red cheeks and noses. Lance wondered if Keith was compensating for their small spat in the Kingsley parking lot by holding Lance’s hand into the restaurant, but whatever the case, it warmed up both of their hands as they both breathed out through cold teeth.

The restaurant itself was dark—as most restaurants were—with deep maroon walls and copious amounts of… plants. There were far too many plants in one room for Lance to be completely comfortable, but as soon as Lance mentioned it, he got his neck pinched and a sour, “Yeah, well, this is what the world would look like if parasites weren’t swarming the planet.”

“Parasites?” Lance blurted out, “I feel insulted and I don’t know why.”

“Keith! Lance!” they heard Coran’s distinct English accent from across the restaurant. Keith perked up instantly and twisted around, searching the floor before spotting the ginger-headed man waving at them from one of the circular booths against the wall, framed by hanging plants and potted plants atop the booth dividers. 

They strode across the room and Keith squeezed into the booth where Lotor and Luxia moved to make room. Lance followed after him, and as their instructor greeted them both and caught them up on what the conversation was about, he glanced sparingly over at where Lotor was sat, glancing away from their instructor as he reached for his wine glass. As he took a sip, a strand of his silver hair dipped from behind his ear, and he caught Lance’s gaze.

Lance cleared his throat awkwardly and looked around the rest of the table, and to where Coran was showing them pictures of the paintings done during his session on the other side of Portland. Luxia gave a little scoff and said, reaching into her purse for her own phone. “You should see the photoshoot I helped out in—” she boasted, and barely flashed the first picture before Coran yelped, “Not exactly appropriate for the table!”

“As if your penis is!” she remarked. 

Keith snorted, smirking over the rim of his water glass. “I don’t know. It might just be a matter of whether or not it’s photorealistic. Lance’s drawings of me were pretty photorealistic.”

“Really? Keith mentioned you were an artist,” the instructor commented. Lance heard enough variations of that to know it was an invitation to bring his work to the table. 

“You told them I was in the class? Isn’t that against the rules?” Lance chastised, blushing all the same as Keith shrugged shamelessly, and the others laughed. “I don’t—I don’t think I took any pictures of it,” he said, and even if he as a terrible liar, he was flustered enough to come off as flattered. “Sorry.”

“Oh—I snuck a few pictures when they were doing critique,” Keith blurted out, digging his phone out of his jacket pocket and flicking through the pictures. As they all filled the silence with chatter over Lotor’s gig the previous night. 

Lotor waved his hand dismissively, grinning as he said, “Oh, it was just a small intimate thing. A photoshoot out of the city with one of your friends.” He gestured to the instructor, who asked how the photographer was. Lance prevented himself from scowling at Lotor by busying himself by finishing off half his glass of water. There was something about Lotor’s airy voice, the slightly breathless moments at the end of sentences that just… rubbed Lance the wrong way.

Keith seemed to be on the same page because he broke up the conversation by showing the pictures of all the drawings on the board, with Lance’s class surrounding it. They played a game on picking out Lance’s drawing, during which time Lance studied the rest of the dining room with his lips pursed into an amused smile. When they did discover Lance’s drawing, he felt a bit hollow thinking about how he made a disaster of himself all week over Keith in his damn drawing class. How he had pictures of his own damn drawings that he got off to in the shower. 

That wasn’t exactly the sort of material to share at the dinner table with Keith’s nude modeling friends.

“You intentionally posed seductively, didn’t you?” Luxia accused, winking at Keith.

He _laughed_ all while Lance turned pink. “I think it’s funny seeing Lance get worked up,” he confessed, grinning devilishly at Lance. Coran hooted with laugher, and reached across the table to shove him by the arm. 

The waitress came and went, and as she refilled their waters and brought another wine glass for Luxia and Lotor, Coran asked, “So how long’d that drawing take you?”

“It was the last drawing we did. So… like an hour and a half?” Lance said, ending with a confused laugh. Their instructor let out a surprised hum, eyebrows raised as she looked at Luxia, who complimented Lance on his work. Lance blushed and looked down at his phone, muttering his thanks as he noted a Snapchat from Shay. 

As Lance opened the snap quietly under the table, Lotor gestured for Keith to bring the phone closer. He squinted at it for a second before looking at Lance and saying, “Oh, come on, you’re telling me you _didn’t take pictures of this?_ ”

“Lotor, come on,” Coran snorted, chuckling as he waved his hand. “Don’t harass the boy.”

“I’m being honest! And they’re dating—we can be open about that kind of stuff. C’mon, Lance, let’s see it,” Lotor insisted, reaching across Keith, who didn’t even bother blocking his path. he leant back, leaving Lance to the fishes, and the shark that happened to snag the phone straight out of Lance’s hands.

The whole time Luxia hooted and leaned in to see Lance’s phone, while Coran rolled his eyes and said, “Privacy is still a thing! Who knows what’s on that phone.” Lance replied by squeaking out, “I don’t have anything on that phone!” “Oh, he’s a growing boy. Leave him alone,” Luxia said from the side as Lotor shouted his triumph and showed the drawings to the table. Keith leaned in to see while Lance turned absolutely red at the evidence. He groaned, slapping his arms over his face while Keith patted his back apologetically, but still flicked through the pictures anyways. 

“I hate everyone,” Lance sighed as he dropped his arms down and took his phone back after the humiliation was over. 

“You really are a beautiful artist, Lance,” Luxia said. “This is incredible work for a freshmen in college.”

“Yeah, well… s’why I’m going to school for it I guess,” he murmured, looking away from them all.

“Why not an art college though?”

“So I could go to school for decreasing motivation over the years and smoke 24/7? No. No thank you,” Lance laughed, and Luxia offered a look that said, “Well, you aren’t wrong.” He shook his head, looking down at his glass of water before saying, “Also, I don’t think my parents would have paid for my tuition if I went to an art school. Because for one, art school’s stupidly expensive—not to mention the supplies on top of it—, and also because of the whole ‘druggie’ stigma.”

“I mean, when I was in art school, everyone was addicted. In photography class no one could shoot at a shutter speed under a hundred twenty-five ‘cause all our hands shook so much,” Luxia said.

“Yeah, well, we also came from a time when everyone smoked,” the instructor said. “Only about half of my photography classes these days raise their hands when I ask if they smoke.”

“The other half are _liars_ …” Coran sang.

They went on telling stories about the good ol’ days of university. They took a brief break to eat as if they hadn’t had food in days—as one does whenever the food comes to the table at a restaurant. It was _so_ fucking good compared to what Lance had been eating every goddamn day at the dining hall, and he hadn’t realized it until the cooked zucchini touched his tongue and he muffled his moan behind his sealed lips. He looked at Keith, who was in the middle of slurping up wholewheat spaghetti noodles. Keith’s eyes went wide when he realized Lance was watching him, and he looked sparingly over at him before the noodle broke off and fell onto the plate.

They giggled like idiots because food just sounded so good and pure—like they wouldn't eat a quality meal again until Thanksgiving in two weeks.

  


  


By the time they went back to Kingsley, Keith was exhausted and could barely keep his eyes open. They spent a bit of time at Lotor’s apartment again with the others, and it wasn’t exactly the _greatest_ idea considering Keith worked in the morning. Going to Lotor’s meant drinking, movies, and a nice luxurious couch ideal for sleeping material. Lance stayed awake the whole time out of paranoia, but Keith fell asleep halfway through the movie and needed to be jostled awake when it came time to leave.

As they wandered down the opulent hallways decorated with pure whites and golds that were accented in deep red carpets, Keith kept his eyes down to his phone, checking all the messages he missed during the movies. In the elevator, Lance picked at his nails before pulling on his gloves, and tugging on his hat. 

“Hey, if I texted Shiro, would you want to stay over tonight?” Lance asked, and Keith hummed—clearly not having heard the question. “Tired?”

“Very.”

“My dorm’s closer to Starbucks, so you could stay the night if you wanted,” he reiterated, gauging for Keith’s reaction.

Keith blinked for a moment, thumbs pausing over his keyboard. He looked up and stared at the elevator door as it pinged and opened up. As they exited, he hesitated _right_ on the brink of the door, preventing it from closing. “Um… you wouldn’t mind?” he asked finally.

Lance shook his head. “I’d just have to text Shiro to see if he’s cool with it. That way you can just park the moped in those free spots and Starbucks is, like, right across the bridge,” he said.

Keith smiled at him despite the sleepiness in his face making it tight. He agreed to staying the night, so Lance quickly texted Shiro as they exited the apartment complex and approached the moped. As Lance closed his phone and zipped it into his pocket, preparing to drive them to Kingsley, the message sent. They exited the city as Shiro blearily opened his phone to read the message from where he was warm and comfortable in his bed. Lance read Shiro’s response the moment they parked the moped to ensure that they wouldn’t wander inside together for nothing. 

The coast was clear.

Keith climbed the stairs with him, and they shushed one another as they got to Lance’s and Shiro’s room. It was dark in the room, so they flicked on the closet lights. Keith went to plug his phone in at Lance’s desk before shedding his coat and wandering over to Lance’s closet where he was changing.

“ _Dude_ , privacy,” Lance whispered.

“Dude, I’m awake,” Shiro grunted from overhead. 

Keith snorted and said, “Sorry Shiro. Lance is just being a twelve-year-old. Can I borrow shorts or am I just gonna wear my boxers.”

“Oh geez hang on let me get you a shirt too,” Lance squeaked, clumsily fumbling through his drawers, all while fully aware that Keith looked over at Shiro triumphantly, as if to say, “What’d I just say?”

They swapped places in the closet and Lance went to get his backpack ready for the morning. When Keith came out again, he went straight for the loft, but Lance stopped him. “Whoa, hey—don’t you, like, wash your face and stuff?” he demanded critically, and when Keith gave him a confused stare, Lance slapped a hand to his face and turned to Shiro. “He doesn’t even wash his face. How do you have such flawless skin?”

“Good genes, I guess?” Keith said. “I dunno. You tell me.”

“He’s an alien. Not from this world,” Shiro groaned into his pillow. 

Lance grabbed Keith by the wrist and towed him towards the closet again. “I’m gonna show you how to wash your face first. You’ll feel better—washing my face always makes me feel better.”

“You mean ‘less gross,’ right?” Keith corrected, and Lance didn’t argue with that. He grabbed a spare towel for Keith and took his container of supplies out the door with him. Keith followed him through the halls and to the boy’s bathroom where the tiles were cold under their bare feet. Really, it was a sin not to wear flip-flops in those bathrooms, but at the time, Lance couldn’t give to shits. His priorities were centered on Keith starting a face regimen.

“If you’re gonna be a model, you need to learn how to wash your face properly. You’ll get wrinkles if you don’t moisturize,” he chided, lining up the cleansers on the countertop while Keith stood there, pale in the blinding bathroom lights. When Lance finished explaining everything, he looked at Keith through the mirror. 

Keith breathed out shakily and murmured, “I need to piss.” He turned away and went to one of the urinals while Lance groaned and slapped his hands on the sink.

When Lance finally got around to making Keith cooperate, the process went smoothly and by the time they returned to the room, it was only… eleven at night. Keith hardly seemed to worry about his six AM shift as he walked into the dark room patting his cheeks fondly.

Lance let Keith climb up the loft first. It involved them both to stand on the desk to get there, but eventually they made it up all in the pitch blackness of the room. The dorm beds weren’t monstrous by any means—they were just simple twins. With the obvious chill in their room, the warmth of Keith’s body beside Lance’s was reassuring. 

The first thing Keith did the moment they were settled under the covers involved pressing the bottom of his feet to Lance’s bare calves. Lance yelped, hissing out, “Your feet are _cold_!” He kicked his knees up and scrambled out of Keith’s foot-hold so he could attack Keith with his own feet. Keith giggled, and the bed squeaked obnoxiously while they fought around on the bed until Shiro whined, “You two are such _children_.”

“We already confirmed that Lance is twelve-years-old,” Keith said, rising up from his pillow before falling back down. If it wasn’t so damn dark, Lance was sure he’d be able to see Keith’s smirking, victorious face.

After a few minutes of lying together in silence, Keith whispered, “Your breath is really hot.”

“Thank you.”

“As in I feel like I’m in a sauna.”

“I retract my thanks,” he murmured quietly, and Keith scoffed. Lance twisted onto his back, and then onto his other side so his face was to the cool air of the rest of the room. He tucked the blanket up to his chin and closed his eyes, only to be startled by Keith’s arm sneaking under Lance’s, searching around before his arm found itself crossing Lance’s chest. The wriggled around until Lance wasn’t on the edge of the bed, and Keith had his leg tossed over Lance’s hip. 

Before Lance could even ask, Keith spoke, his words hushed and completely unapologetic, “Why do you think I have a body pillow in my room? Gotta hug something.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Lance scoffed, looking up at the ceiling as he thought, _God, thanks for making him a cuddler_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's excited for the modeling session tomorrow :P Which means I gOTTA GET CRACKIN ON THAT GEE WIZ.
> 
> Also! I have a job now !! I don't really know the details of it yet, but it's at a coffee shop, probably a barista position, which means... potential material for an accurate non-cliche coffee shop AU ?? Perhaps ?? I've already done a magic cafe so I'd have to mix it up.


	17. Corporate American Coffee feat. All-American Nude Tuchus

Keith’s alarm went off at about fifteen minutes to six. 

Lance barely woke up from it until Keith pushed himself up, which meant that a cold draft split between them. Lance’s hand went to where Keith had his arm over his chest all night. It felt like there was an indent there, still warm against the fabric of his shirt. He pushed his elbow into the mattress and sat up, but he was just pushed back down.

“Go to sleep. I’m just gonna head out,” Keith whispered, crawling forward toward the desk and lowering himself down. He was discretely quiet, hopping down from the desk and fetching his phone. Lance nearly fell asleep again if Keith hadn’t reached up to tap him on the head. 

“Hm?” Lance grunted out, squinting an eye open. It was just barely morning, so he could see the highlights on the hand Keith held up to him. A fist. “You’re so _weird_ ,” Lance giggled quietly. He pushed his hand over and gave Keith a fist-bump.

Keith hurried off to work after that, and Lance slept lightly until his first class. During the times he woke up briefly before his alarm, he considered the idea that… _Yes_ , he _had_ slept through nearly the entire night. It wasn’t every night he got a full eight hours of sleep, but… this was damn near close. He used to share a bed with his siblings and he couldn’t stop himself from waking up constantly to make sure they were still asleep and comfortable, but Keith was different. Keith was… fine. It was fine sleeping the night through with him.

Lance sat up with a groan five minutes before his alarm and started to get ready for the day. By that point Shiro was already up, so as he got down, he muttered, “Mornin’,” and received the same back. 

He moseyed over to his closet, and glanced over at where Shiro was applying deodorant underneath his shirt. “Thanks for being cool with Keith staying the night,” Lance said after a moment, turning to his own closet and pulling out a shirt for the day.

“No problem. S’long as you two don’t do anything nasty we’re good—which… not really expecting, but just so ya know,” Shiro said. Lance snorted and shook his head, agreeing that _that_ probably wouldn’t happen any time soon. _Or at all_.

The thought popped up often enough for Lance to dismiss it easily. Of course, he dismissed it _after_ a worried look came to his face before he reassured himself, _Having sex with Keith wouldn’t validate anything at this point since he doesn’t view it as an act of love. So it’s got nothing to do with me_.

“Allura can stay over if she wants, too,” he said.

“I dunno. Not really into that.”

“C’mon, it’d be cool. We could have, like, a slumber party. Do each other’s nails. Face mask.”

“Preferably _not_ during midterms, ‘kay?” Shiro suggested, grimacing at the thought. “I already feel like I’m drowning.”

“Okay. So after midterms?”

“Um… sure? Do I have a choice?”

“No.” 

He finished changing and swiftly donned his winter coat and hat. After snatching his portfolio bag and backpack, he was off to Economics. It was brisk that morning, and air was sharp on every intake of breath. Somehow, it wasn’t quite freezing temperatures, so there was a chilly mist around campus and it followed Lance across the bridge and past the old brick buildings along the way. When he got to the lecture hall, he found Hunk waiting for him at their usual spot. 

Lance swept into his spot with a delighted sigh and said, “Today’s gonna be a good day.”

“You think?” Hunk laughed, and Lance confirmed the declaration. “I… actually wanted to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“Do you think Shay would say ‘yes’ if I asked if we could be friends?” 

Lance hesitated in unpacking his backpack. He sat back in his chair and stared at the front of the room for a second. For a moment, he considered opening his mouth to say something, but closed it and reconsidered his words more carefully. It took a sufficient amount of time for Hunk to even comment, “What is it? You’re making me nervous.”

“I just—” Lance started, flustered by the question, “Are we in first grade or something? If you _like_ her, then—”

“I never said that I _like her_ , like her,” he hissed out, irritated. “She just… she seems cool and I want to hang out with her more.”

“Then _ask her_.”

“Yeah, but I _don’t have her number_. And I have no reason to see her unless we all hang out,” Hunk insisted, gesturing to the collective ‘we’ that consisted of Lance, Keith, Pidge, Shay, and Nyma. Shiro and Allura could join in if they wanted, Lance supposed. 

“Have you asked Keith about it?”

At that, he sighed and rubbed his forehead, saying, “No. He seems like he’s really close with Shay. He’d probably tell her regardless. And they’d find it _amusing_ and _funny_ and not serious or anything like that.”

“I feel like people don’t make friends like that any more. We all just… befriend one another by association and convenience,” Lance admitted, biting into his lip as he thought more about it. His brow furrowed as he shook his head. “Like… we don’t have to say anything to validate friendship. You know what I mean?”

“How do you come up with these two AM concepts. I don’t understand,” Hunk complained. “It’s too early to process this existential crisis right now.”

“Okay, but… if we want this friendship to kick off smoothly after all the shit that happened, we’ll just… organize another get-together? It’d have to be spontaneous because that’s how they role.” They considered the proposal for a moment while Lance thought about all their other get togethers. The study date didn’t go too well, and Shay and Nyma _had_ to have decided to go to the movies last minute considering Keith had no clue… He and Hunk hung out at the gym with Keith, so—

“The gym! Organize a gym meet-up again!” Lance said, clapping his hands together. “I’ll ask Keith when he goes to the gym next, and we can get Shay and Nyma to come with.”

“What about Pidge?”

“She’s allergic to the gym. So you in?” 

Hunk hummed uncertainly just moments before the professor entered the room and started up the lecture. It wasn’t until the end of a painful hour of game theory that Hunk was able to accept the offer. They decided on a day, and as the planners they were, plotted to not inform Keith, Shay, and Nyma until thirty minutes before the event. “But plan for them to drop out just in case. Ya never know with those ones,” Lance told him.

“Same with you. And since I tend to work out every other day I’d probably end up going anyways,” Hunk confessed. “So if you wanted to swim regardless of how things work out, you might see me there.”

Lance laughed and said he’d keep his eyes open if things didn’t go as planned. They slapped hands before heading their separate ways in the Quad. On Mondays, Lance tended to have a lengthy break between Economics and his figure drawing class, so he debated going back to Kingsley only to skip that idea and go to Starbucks. It was one of those rare days where he didn’t need a coffee to keep him going.

He slipped through the revolving door and found a good portion of the room filled with students studying for exams and such. Lance wandered across the tiled floors, underneath the vaulted ceilings lined with skylights that circled the Starbucks stand where Keith worked. He was at the cash register that day, and noticed Lance nearly as soon as he hopped in line. Keith hesitated in writing down the customer’s name, and looked down smiling. Sometimes it took a while for Lance to realize he was smiling uncontrollably, and it was mostly the strain it put on his cheeks. He should smile more, and going to Starbucks seemed to give him the daily dose he needed.

When he came up in line, he said, “Surprise me.”

“Really? Wow, I didn't know you were so spontaneous,” Keith commented, directing his snarky tone into a sly grin. 

“I dunno. Last time I asked a Starbucks barista to surprise me, she did a pretty good job. Something with caramel in it, I think,” he confessed, stuffing his hands in his pockets to pull out his student ID. 

As Keith swiped it, he cheekily asked, “Should I be worried that you’re seeing another Starbucks barista other than me?”

“She used _lots_ and _lots_ of whipped cream, too…”

“Sounds sticky. Gross.”

“Oh my God I can’t tell if you’re being ignorant or perverted. Honestly I’d prefer the latter,” he confessed with a grin, and watched Keith write Lance’s name onto the clear cup. _A cold drink then_ , Lance mused, only to back up a moment. “Wait—Did you write _Perverted Idiot_ on that?”

“Next please,” Keith called out. He was still grinning though, despite the fact that he refused to look at Lance.

When Lance’s drink came up next to be made, Keith switched places with the barista, just so he could have the satisfaction of sliding the drink across the counter and calling out, “Perverted Idiot, your drink’s up.”

“I am going to throttle you by the neck the next time we hang out,” Lance hissed out through his smile as he snatched his drink out of Keith’s hands.

“Ooh, kinky. See you then.”

“Why are you being so feisty right now? You realize I have to deal with Lotor in an hour, don’t you? Can’t you just pity me for a little while?” Lance whined, peering over the espresso machine as Keith started to fix up another drink.

“Oh, come on, he’s trying to go after me. Why else would he pester you for the drawings of me?” he reassured Lance. “Which, by the way, totally flattered that you have nude pictures of me saved on your phone.”

“I am never going to get past this, am I?”

“It’s cute!”

“You’re ace! You’re not supposed to think it’s cute!”

“Okay, me actively participating in your pastime isn’t cute, but the sentiment is. You have to admit that much.”

By that point, one of the customers waiting for their drink caught Lance’s eye with a weird look. Lance had the good sense to blush under the confusion of innocent bystanders, so he leaned in to hiss, “We aren’t talking about this right now. Get back to work.”

“Anything you say, _sir_ ,” Keith chimed in, sliding a drink onto the counter and calling out the name.

Not a minute later, someone got up from the barstools nearby, so Lance stuffed his portfolio bag under it and pulled out his usual sketchbook from his backpack. He perched himself at the counter facing the epicenter of the room, where the coffee brewed and filled the space with warm energy. His drink was everything vanilla and coffee-flavored bliss, and he sipped it when he remembered that it existed. Other than that, his attention was focused on detailing Keith in his natural habitat—working at the cashier’s, being flirted with by girls and guys alike who visited that Starbucks. 

He shaded in the darkened background behind Keith, where the baristas would disappear to and fetch things from storage beyond the windowless door. There were spotlights around their counters and machines, and with the white glow coming in from outside, the area was filled with bright, gentle light that hinted on the gleam of the pastry glass, and the metal of the sleek, new machinery polished to a flawless point. Lance tried his best to blur out the foreground and background, and was in the midst of smudging with his index finger when someone stepped up beside him to observe. 

“What a beautiful drawing,” said Nyma, who simply beamed at Lance when he was nearly startled out of his chair. He should have recognized her from the curtain of blond hair tucked over her shoulder and into Lance’s line of view. She chuckled a little, leaning her elbow against the counter and nodding to where Keith was working. “Did you get something to drink?”

“Uh, yeah—thanks for reminding me. I keep forgetting about it,” he confessed, reaching behind him to pick up the cup and drink a bit more. 

She snapped her fingers and said, “Darn. I have a gift card that one of my relatives gave me. I don’t like to support Starbucks, so… do you want it? I mean, free of charge. You don’t need to pay me back.”

“Um…?”

“An excuse to come here more often without going broke,” she reiterated, and that was enough to convince Lance to take it. She combed her fingers through her hair and glanced around the room at all the people mingling at tables. 

They stood together in mutual silence. Lance went back to sketching and Nyma stood there observing. They didn’t really _need_ to talk, and they were just passing the time until Nyma’s order was called. He figured she was off on her own way then, but she came back to say, “Hey, I don’t know if you’re super into parties—Keith says you aren’t—but he’s probably not gonna tell you and end up tricking you into coming. The Co-Op’s having a Thanksgiving party this weekend before midterms, so… just so you know. Avoid us on Saturday.”

Lance laughed and said, “Thanks for the warning. Yeah, I probably won’t go. I guess the way to get me to go to parties is to trick me into them like Keith does.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” she confessed with a reassuring smile. “And also, you should probably know all this small-talk is just for me to ask if I could get a picture of you real quick. If any of my friends are having a particularly good Outfit Day, I like to memorialize it on my Instagram.” She displayed it in the air like an arch over their heads, and Lance looked down at her smiling face afterwards, a bit dumbfounded. 

“Uh, sure? Yeah, that’s fine.” 

Lance stuffed his sketchbook into his backpack as Nyma recommended a place across the bridge. They walked out of the revolving door together with Lance’s portfolio bag hooked over one shoulder, and his coffee in the other hand. Their meeting seemed to be at the perfect moment because not only was Lance closer to Altea Hall, but by the end of their photoshoot against the brick wall, he was set to get to class. 

By the time he got to the room, he already had a notification from Nyma, and evidence of their time together on her Snapstory—a picture of the two of them in front of a bright, saturated red wall, Lance sticking his tongue out at the camera. A less embarrassing picture was on Instagram, featuring Lance against the brick wall with his portfolio bag, hand up to his hair as he tried to flatten it down and make it more manageable. And… he definitely had a well-rested look to him that was rare these days. He was thankful Nyma had been there to capture it. 

“All right class, I’d like to introduce you to our next model. But first, remember—phones off and in your bags. I don’t want to see them at all until class is over—not even during breaks. Remember to be courteous and mindful our model,” their professor declared, stepping off the platform as a familiar silver-haired man stood on the sidelines against the wall, donning a deep blue robe that ended at his mid-thigh. 

The professor encouraged Lotor to introduce himself, and Lance found himself startled that he hadn’t realized Lotor already found him, and pegged him down with those deep-set, slim eyes. He seemed to study the rest of the class as he unclasped his hands from in front of him and pushed off of the wall. 

“Well, you may all call me Lotor. I recently moved here and was in the same class as your previous model, Keith. So… that’s me I suppose,” he said, smiling at the professor before she turned off the lights, and left only the spotlights to focus on the center of the room. 

As the professor discussed the routine for that class, and the mediums they’d be using for the exercises, Lance watched Lotor turn his phone on and set a timer. He stepped onto the rounded platform and set it onto the chair propped to the side. His shoulder-length silver hair was down, and it seemed to curl underneath his chin, and dip away from where he had it tucked behind his ears. Lance studied the gentle fabric of his robe, and how the sheen of it imitated silk, and the shine of Lotor’s hair.

The moment they were set to draw, and Lotor dispensed his robe onto the chair, set the timer, he was swift to get into position. His twisted his weight onto one hip, an arm draped over his lower back, the other falling to his thigh—as Lance would later note, in a position that completely blocked his crotch from the opposite side of the room, and one that displayed it to the rest of them. And his head turned—

And his eyes fell directly on Lance.

  


  


Lance could barely stand the half-hour drawing they were thrown into after the exercises.

The first five-minute sketch was bad enough, and the break between then and now was fine—Lance was able to _fucking concentrate for once_ —but as soon as the timer started for the half-hour drawing, they tried sketches that involved lying-down poses. They set up the table for it, and Lotor draped himself across it, half-leaning on one elbow with his other arm pulled behind him, hand resting on his hip. He wasn’t _completely_ facing Lance, but that swiftly changed when he tipped his head to the side, and his eyes flickered away—landing on Lance and his easel once again. 

_God give me strength to survive this_.

It was easy for _anyone_ to get flustered over something as ridiculous as this, so Lance rationalized that he wasn’t being completely insane with this. What were the chances that Lotor pegged him down like that in the first sketch anyways? And what was with these poses? He wasn’t sure if anyone else could tell, but… Lotor’s lean, narrow features just _screamed_ sensuality—or was that Lance’s brain fogging up? Was it getting hot in here?

 _Shit_.

Lance somehow managed to draw with his usual form of intense detail, even in the oil pastels they were using. He filled in vibrant patches of contrasting colors between variations of light—he used long, swooping motions for the broader muscles of Lotor’s chest—his shoulders—and the angle of his thigh pitching up to his raised knee. He used less detail in the face—darkening the shadows of his hollow eyes, and his slim cheekbones. Accentuating his angular nose, sharp at the point. 

Lotor would blink slowly at Lance, and the more he thought about it, he started to wonder if he should have paid attention in Boy Scouts when they taught morse code. Was it possible that Lotor was trying to morse code him _Hey let’s fuck_? Because Lance was _seriously_ getting those vibes and he didn’t want to be the only one freaking out here about it. But…

He seemed to be the only one.

At the break time for critique, he asked his studio friend, “Hey, did you notice anything… _weird_ about the model?”

She shrugged and said, “I dunno. He seems pretty normal to me. Why? Do you think he has an STD or something?”

“Um, _no_? I don’t think I’d pay attention that close anyway,” Lance snorted.

“ _I’d_ pay close attention to that without an STD, if ya know what I mean— _sh!_ Don’t talk about it. Do you _want_ to get kicked out,” she hissed at him, giggling all the same as he blurted out, “You were the one who _mentioned it!_ ”

She just seemed to smile satanically. Lance was seriously starting to miss model sessions with Keith. At least _Keith_ didn’t stare at Lance incessantly through the drawings. Well, except for the painting, _but that didn’t count!_

When they got back to an hour-long drawing to cover the rest of the class period, Lotor faced the other side of the class. He had a hand raised over his head, and the lighting was entirely even over his side while the shadows dipped down the lower edges of his back, exposing the dimples of Venus in darker divots.

Lance survived the hour of drawing Lotor’s body, up until the moment where they finished their last critique, and everyone left the classroom with tired eyes and cramped fingers. Lance left with an equally exhausted brain from overthinking. He could practically feel the smoke protruding from his ears as he dared to function past exiting the room. 

He went down his usual route out of the building, and found himself stopped at the same water counter where Keith usually met him. Instead, Lance found Lotor in his place, eyes up and focusing on Lance the moment he turned the corner of the hallway. 

Before Lance could say anything, Lotor held up his phone and shook it. “Keith would snap me when he was waiting for you here. Recognized the water fountain,” he confessed, pushing off the wall to walk to where Lance was still floored, standing completely still. He could have been a statue, or a nude model standing motionless in front of a class of art students.

“What are… What are you doing here?” he asked, clearing his throat as Lotor smiled down at him, stuffing his phone into his pocket.

“I just wanted to let you know I love your work,” Lotor said casually, glancing down the hall with a simple nudge of his shoulder, as if the comment didn’t mean all that much to him either way. “And I know how Keith is about his work. So focused. Nothing else matters with that one.”

“Um… not quite sure I understand,” Lance confessed, eyes narrowing.

Lotor reached into the inside pocket of his leather jacket, lined with deep back fur up around the collar. He pulled out a slim grey card and said, “I figured I should mention this now, so you can make your decision by the end of the week. I’d love to have a private session with you, and normally it’s the artist paying the model, but… we could make it work.”

Lance’s arm just seemed to function on its own accord. He plucked the card from Lotor’s extended fingers, which just earned him a wink from the man before he walked off, pulling up the collar of his jacket. “We’ll talk later, Lance. Good work in class today,” Lotor said, offering a mocking salute before twisting around and swinging around the railing, down the main stairs, and out of view. 

He probably stood next to that water fountain for another twenty minutes while his brain short-circuited and rewired itself. _What. The actual. Fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was a time, wasn't it? Sometimes I just have this lovely British grandma talking in the back of my head telling me what to say and I think that's why I say "gee wiz" and "o gosh" so often.
> 
> I think I have to stop one-a-day chapters for the weekend 'cause... it's gon be wild... I'll probably post again on Friday night or Saturday morning, because **I start my new job tomorrow !!** Today I spent so much time procrastinating on this fic 'cause I didn't know what Lotor was gonna do. I can't get into that man's head whatsoever so y'all are gonna be experiencing this diSASSter with me because WOOEEE that man is somethin' else.
> 
>  **Real question tho:** Would Lance... agree to a private session with Lotor IF he conspired with Keith first and Keith was like "Hell yeah do it." Would he still agree to it.


	18. Externally Sexy Sugar Daddy, Internally Ugly Asshole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do ya'll prefer late-night updates or morning updates?

The spontaneous workout session… _sort of_ worked out. They just hadn’t planned on both Shiro and Allura joining them. Lance was certain that it would have been fine if Keith miraculously—and without Lance’s permission—convinced _Pidge,_ of all people, to come with. It was honestly a goddamn miracle, and would have been great, had they all not gone straight to the pool while Keith and Nyma went to lift weights,

They picked the same time as last time, which meant nearly the entire pool was their’s for the taking. The instant Hunk saw it, and the wide open lanes, he hollered and ran for a canon ball, much to the lifeguard’s surprise, and later annoyance when everyone else joined in. Lance catapulted after Hunk, and grabbed onto him from behind, slinging his arms around Hunk’s shoulders all while adding to the screeching echoing off the tiled walls. 

Pidge sat on the edge of the pool kicking her legs around while everyone else stood around in the shallow section with the water up to their torsos. Lance started laps with Hunk, and while Shay and Allura joined in, they started races that only managed to last a few laps before Hunk was hopelessly out of breath, and Shay was teasing him from over the rope. 

Lance paused at the end of the lane, panting as he slung his arms over the edge and looked over at where Allura was lingering, kicking her legs in the warm water and staying afloat. Her eyes were focused across the pool, where they could hear Pidge and Shiro talking. Sure, the pool was huge, but with the amount of people in there, no conversation was entirely “private.” 

They were talking about a video game Rollo purchased earlier that week, and were plotting a viewing party that weekend. Neither of them were entirely onboard with the idea of the Co-Op’s party on Saturday, either, considering what happened last time. The bruise on Shiro’s face was long-gone, but it was natural to want to forget about it entirely—especially when they were friends again.

“You think I’m being ridiculous, don’t you?” Allura commented to Lance after they both observed Shiro and Pidge in silence. “Like, a guy and a girl can’t _just_ be friends.”

“Sure they can. Pidge and I are friends.”

“I _know_ , but sometimes I don’t think Shiro thinks that way,” she confessed. “He always talks about her. They’re always texting about nonsense and it doesn’t make sense.”

“That… _is_ the definition of nonsense…”

“Well, you know what I mean. It’s all mindless stuff. Shiro _isn’t_ mindless. You know? You can’t keep his attention if you aren’t talking about something important,” she explained, coasting up to the rope beside Lance and leaning her elbow against the ledge. They listened to the water lap up and suck through the vents before she said anything more on the subject. “I mean, you probably don’t want to hear this, but sometimes we’ll be making out and he’ll stop because Pidge texted him.”

“Okay, gross.”

“And I’m over here in my swimming suit after I shaved frantically before coming here and… he’s over there talking to Pidge,” she whined quietly, muffling it into her arm. “Am I being ridiculous?”

Lance _knew_ she wanted him to say “No” but that would just encourage her jealousy. He didn’t want to do that, but… it was a bit weird, he had to admit. And until now he hadn’t pegged Shiro as one of those fickle guys who flaunted around without a care for what people thought. Shiro was _constantly_ thinking about how others felt—it was the entire reason why he wanted to be an RA in the first place. Well, aside from the free housing and meals, but _still_. 

“I think… that Pidge and Shiro are really good friends. Like, do you have any super good friends? Like Keith with Nyma?” he asked, and when she stayed quiet, he decided to continue. “I mean, I’d count Pidge as a super good friend of mine. I’d probably stop in the middle of a make-out session to talk to her.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, totally. The ultimate definition of best friend—willing to cease all make-outs for them.” Allura giggled a little, her smile coming back. “I hope that cleared up a few things.”

She smiled, eyes squinty as she nodded. “Yeah, it did. Thanks Lance.”

“And besides, Shiro wouldn’t go for a seventeen-year-old. He’s, like, nineteen.”

“Yeah.”

“And also, Pidge would probably punch him again if he tried anything.”

“Ha! Yeah, you’re right.”

“If anything you should be scared for Shiro getting punched. Protect him.”

Allura laughed and shoved Lance. “ _You’re_ ridiculous. But you’re also right. I don’t want him to get punched again. He complained about it almost as much as you complain about Keith being a nude model. How are you two anyways? You know how much I love your drama with him.”

“We—! We do _not_ have drama! Drama-free relationship, a hundred-and-ten-percent,” he insisted, shaking his head as Allura merely smirked at him, knowing and all-powerful as she was. He was prepared to just duck out of there and start another lap, but her gaze was insistent. _Geez, now I know how Shiro feels_. “Okay, _fine_. I still need to tell him about it, but we haven’t seen each other since Monday and now we’re all in a group. _But_ , there was this rich guy in his modeling class who’s modeling for my figure drawing class now. He _hit on me_ and then suggested we have a _private session_ together and I don’t know what to make of it.”

“Dude, he wants to get laid. With _you_. He wants to _f_ —” she blurted out, but Lance squeaked and practically dove straight over the rope to slap his hand over her mouth. By that point, Shay and Hunk were starting to doggie-paddle their way from opposite sides of the rope. 

“Who wants to fuck?” Shay asked. “Lance?”

“No—! How dare!” Lance cried out, fake-sobbing. “I’m being attacked on all sides here!”

“Lance has a sugar daddy,” Allura accused, and Hunk hummed, “Wow, I didn’t know Keith was rich.”

“Wait, he told you?” Shay said.

The pool room went deadly quiet for a few moments, and since Pidge and Shiro ceased conversation, they were now looking over at all their stunned faces, and the fact that Shay looked paler than usual. She dropped her feet down onto the ground of the pool, so the water sunk up to her chin. “Oops,” she squeaked.

“Wait—Keith’s _rich_? How?” Hunk blurted out. “I thought—I mean, he works at _Starbucks_ and picked up nude modeling for _money_ —and, also, because it’s kinda fun… but _still_!”

“I need air,” Lance said, breathless as he ducked under one of the ropes to get to the shallower section of the pool where Pidge and Shiro were. He barely made it over to them before he fake-fainted and floated up to the surface as if he was a corpse, eyes unfocused. “I’m dreaming.”

Shay came into view, sending a current of water lapping over his chest. She grimaced as she said, “I-I didn’t mean to tell you. He doesn’t like to tell people because it’s not completely certain yet. His grandparents are the grantors to the trust fund, but his parents control the management of it. Right now it’s just paying for his tuition because his parents are shit and won’t give him full control of it.”

Lance drifted back up, frowning at Shay as she went on. “Wait—I didn’t know that he even _talked_ to his parents.”

“He doesn’t. They’re hippies in northern California—I think they own a medicinal cannabis farm but Keith won’t confirm it,” she confessed with a nervous laugh, glancing over at the others as they gathered around. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be talking about this. It’s for Keith to tell, not me. But… the terms of the trust fund were that his grandparents wanted Keith to go to university instead of what his parents did, and his mother his the trustee, so her condition was that he’d go for something to help the environment. So… that’s why he’s here.”

“Shit, I never knew,” Hunk mused aloud. “But, that’s good, right? Because he loves his major.”

“Yeah, he does. I’m sure he’d love it a helluva lot more if it wasn’t a requirement, though,” she confessed. “But… yeah. I mean, a lot of the kids who live at the Co-Op are relatively well-off. You can’t exactly pay to live there if you don’t have the funds for it. And Keith’s mom loves us all so… that helps.”

“You’ve met her before?” Lance asked. “What’s she like?”

“High. And also… surprisingly insightful. But if you just listen to her voice you end up looking like Keith. In which case he thinks she’s full of horseshit,” she explained, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “I visited them over the summer—mostly so I could investigate whether or not they have a cannabis farm, which I… never found evidence of…—and they pretty much live sustainably on their own. Like, they have goats and chickens and pigs. And they use _everything_ —like, all their compost goes into their gardens. All the food from their garden goes into the food. None of the food gets wasted. They make their own blankets and towels.”

“Holy shit, I kind of want to go there,” Allura confessed with a laugh.

“Sounds like torture,” Pidge muttered, kicking her foot up out of the water.

“That’s just because you don’t like the wilderness,” Shiro commented, and Pidge shrugged, not denying it. “So what’s his dad like?”

“He doesn’t like to talk about his dad. So I don’t really know,” Shay confessed. “But from what I can tell, he’s kind of an asshole. His dad’s parents—Keith’s grandparents who granted the trust fund—don’t even like him. They fell in love with Keith’s mom, though, which is why she’s the trustee. She’s stubborn to a fault.”

The conversation of Keith’s trust fund dissipated in favor of debating whether or not Keith’s parents owned a marijuana farm on their way to the lanes. Allura insisted Shiro share a lane with her so they could compete, and Lance watched Pidge stand up and head for the diving board. She passed him on the way and said, “In case you forgot, I used to be in gymnastics, dingus.” She reached a foot out to push Lance’s forehead away, but he dodged it. “Helped with diving.”

“Seriously? I knew you were powerful, but gymnastics _and_ diving?” he jested. “I’ve always wondered why your arms were so buff. I’m surprised you didn’t break Shiro’s jaw.”

“If I really tried I could,” she boasted, puffing out her chest before continuing on her way to the board.

It wasn’t until after he, Shiro, and Hunk finished cleaning up in the guy’s locker room that Shay ever got around to asking, “Wait, so if you weren’t talking about Keith, who were you talking about?” They were gathered on the other side of the locker rooms, Pidge frantically on her phone, and Allura fixing up her damp hair into a messy bun. 

Shiro walked up to her, putting his arm around her as she said, “You smell like chlorine,” to which he answered, “Well, so do you. The feeling’s mutual.” She giggled and scrunched her nose up as Shiro pressed an obnoxious kiss to her temple.

As they were all lovey-dovey together, Lance winced at Shay and said, “I need to talk to Keith about it. It’s weird.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” she scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. “Will this confession involve me having to defend you against a quite-frankly murderous Keith?”

“I don’t think so?”

“Okay, good. Let’s go tell him because I want to hear this,” she said, grabbing Lance by the arm and dragging him ahead. Everyone else fell in step behind them, and on the way up the stairs, Hunk came to walk alongside Lance. They smiled nervously to one another as they approached the weights section of the gym. Lance wouldn’t exactly put it past Keith to freak out, but he also wouldn’t be surprised if there wasn’t a reaction at all. 

This whole time he was bracing himself for Keith to act like he didn’t care about whether or not Lotor asked for a private session. It just seemed _bizarre_ to Lance, and was probably equally as weird in Keith’s eyes. They wouldn’t take this seriously, because Lance certainly wasn’t. As if he would ever go to Lotor’s apartment knowing full well he’d find the man butt naked.

Keith was spotting Nyma at the benchpress when they walked up, wet hair and towels around their necks. He reached his fist out to bump Shay’s and Lance’s before Shay said, “Lance says he has a sugar daddy and it’s not you.”

“I did _not_ say that—Allura said it!” Lance groaned, going bright red when Keith raised his eyebrows at Lance. That was certainly _one way_ to break the news. 

Lance glanced over at where the others were busying themselves with the hula hoops off to the side, and Pidge was showing them all up with Allura coming in a close second place. _Great, so_ she _can’t even back me up here_ , Lance mused bitterly.

“But there was serious talk about a sugar daddy,” Shay reiterated.

“If anyone is having serious talk about a sugar daddy, it’d be me,” Nyma grunted out as she pushed the weight back up and onto the holder. She weaseled out from under it and leaned over her knees. “I want in on this.”

“ _No one_ has a sugar daddy—can we _please_ stop saying that?” Lance whined. 

“Fine. Then how’d the session go with Lotor yesterday?” Keith asked, hands on his hips. When Lance didn’t say anything straight away, Keith rolled his eyes and muttered, “So this has to do with Lotor. Perfect.”

“I just think it’s ridiculous and the whole session was awkward as fuck,” Lance said. “Half the time he wouldn’t quit staring at me, and then after the session he gave me his _business card_ and asked if we could do a private session after the week’s over.”

“Are you serious?” Shay blurted out. “That _asshole_!”

“I know!” he cried out, throwing his hands up. “It was embarrassing!”

“What are you going to do?” Keith asked, and some part of Lance’s brain registered that Keith was less monotonous than usual about his question. The tension in his voice was probably what led both Nyma and Shay to look expectantly at Lance, as if taunting, “Yeah, Lance, what’re you gonna do? Huh?”

He swallowed hard, and gave an obvious shrug. “He probably just wants to have sex, you know? So of course I’m not gonna accept his offer,” Lance said, laughing nervously. “Right? I mean, he was _totally_ hitting on me. Who just gets naked and stares at _one_ person for two-plus hours?”

“Sounds like something I’d do, honestly,” Nyma confessed, and when Shay gave her a weird look, she muttered, “I’m just being honest. And also, probably a good decision to stay away from that guy. I mean, how hot is he, exactly?”

“Hot on the outside, ugly on the inside,” Lance said. “And honestly I kind of want to know what the hell he wants. I mean, if all he wants is a masterpiece of his face like all those rich royal people in England, hell I’d do it. I mean, he’d have to pay for the acrylics but—”

“Please, don’t do it,” Keith sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked up at Lance, beyond annoyed, and Lance was surprised by how pissed he was about it. “Don’t be stupid, Lance. God, I should have known. I thought he was picking on you to get to me.”

“It’s fine, Keith—”

“ _No_ , it’s _not_ okay. Promise me you won’t accept his offer,” he demanded. “He’s _dangerous_ , Lance. And I’m not just talking about his sexual advances. Don’t get involved with him.”

Lance gulped down his doubts as best he could. He shouldn’t even be considering spending time with Lotor outside of this week in figure drawing. He shouldn’t even be _thinking_ about it. It was so insignificant that he probably didn’t even need to tell Keith in the first place, since nothing would come of it.

Right?

  


**Keith:** _Shay said she spilled the beans about my grandparents_

**Lance:** _Yeah but you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to_

**Keith:** _Well, I mean it’s not a big deal it’s just kind of anticlimactic_

**Lance:** _And either way it’s not like I’d ask you to pay for all our dates_

_‘Cuz honestly that’d be kinda shitty_

**Keith:** _Ha yeah_

_But I kinda hoped to tell you myself if it came to that_

_Whatever_

**Lance:** _No tell me now_

_I don’t even remember what Shay said I passed out and hit my head._

_I was concussed for two weeks with no memory of us or our relationship_

_plz relay every excruciating detail of your entire life story so I may remember it again_

**Keith:** _gawd you’re always so dramatic_

_whatever it’s not a big deal_

**Lance:** _TELL ME_

**Keith:** _Ugh fine whatever_

_My grandparents are pretty much paying for my tuition and housing, and I wouldn’t have a problem with it if my mom wasn’t restricting the rest of the money until after college_

_After I graduate I’ll get control over my trust funds when I turn twenty-five that was the deal with my grandparents_

_So I’m basically saving money to pay for food and shit and then an apartment when I graduate until my mom’s no longer the trustee_

**Lance:** _Oh but I mean, you’ll probably still have to save money anyways, right?_

_So it’s a good thing you’re starting now_

**Keith:** _No Lance I shouldn’t have to be saving money_

_But it’s a good habit. It’s not like I’ll… squander it all or whatever the fuck_

_I’d have to do some fucked up shit to use it all up like that_

**Lance:** _What do you mean_

**Keith:** _I don’t want to tell you what it is_

_‘cuz I know that you’re not in this relationship for sex because obviously_

_but my grandparents would shit a cow if I ended up dating someone who wanted me for their money_

**Lance:** _yeah ow don’t want them to shit cows_

_They’d probably die from it_

**Keith:** _I know and you’d probably die from hearing it_

**Lance:** _o come on it’s probably not that serious_

**Keith:** _Lance, it’s—_

  


  


“ _SHIT!_ ” Lance squeaked, his arm slipping off his loft. He screamed and dropped his phone, lodging his foot against the railing to keep from falling completely. Even over the sound of Shiro’s music, they both heard the crack when Lance’s phone fell. It flopped onto its back on the carpet, displaying a very, _very_ cracked screen. “ _Shit_ , fuck, holy shit,” Lance said, cursing some more as he rubbed at the soon-to-be sizable bump on his thigh from catching himself on the railing.

“Shit, your phone. Are you okay? What happened?” Shiro asked, half-rising from his desk.

Lance waved him off as he numbly scrambled down from his ladder. His legs felt like jelly. “N-Nothing. Everything’s fine. Everything’s _great_ ,” he blurted out, laughing hysterically as he went to pick up his phone. He tried to turn it on, but the power button was jammed. “ _Fuck_. I broke my phone.”

“No shit,” Shiro said, eyes wide as he looked at the shattered remnants of Lance’s phone screen, and then at Lance’s face. “You look like you’re about to puke. How old was your phone?”

“It’s an iPhone 6—like, four generations behind,” Lance sighed. “So I needed an upgrade anyways. I hate upgrading my phone…”

“iPhone Infinity isn’t that great,” Shiro said. “It looks futuristic-y, but it’s really just shit.”

“Wow, good to know I have _that_ to look forward to. I was texting Keith. He probably thinks I passed out or something.”

“Literally or figuratively?”

“Like, _fainted_. He probably thinks I fainted,” Lance confessed. “I’m kind of prone to fainting sometimes. Whenever I get my blood drawn I pass the fuck out.”

“Afraid of needles?”

“Terrified.”

They lapsed into silence as Lance sighed down at his broken phone, and considered other modes of communication to let Keith know that he was all right, even if his phone wasn’t. “I’m gonna go over to Pidge’s room. See if she knows any nerds who can fix my phone,” he said.

As Lance left, Shiro called out after him, “Tell Pidge I say hi!” Lance waved him off distractedly, still trying to function under the knowledge of _knowing_ someone, and being in a _relationship_ with someone who potentially had infinitely more money than Lance ever dreamed of seeing in his lifetime. It was the sort of cash that people didn’t just _stumble across_ without a serious backing of ancestors providing towards the success of a common goal. It seemed like that was exactly where Keith was going with this plan of his, too. 

_Imagine being that secure in life_ , Lance thought to himself, and realized quickly that he hardly remembered walking down the entire hallway to Pidge’s room until he was already standing in front of it.

Lance spaced in and out for the rest of the day until he realized a little too late that he never found another mode of communication, and was startled from his trance by someone knocking hard on the door and barging straight in. He figured it was Shiro, but Shiro never knocked, and his roommate was sitting right over there, looking startled as he said, “Keith? What are you doing here?”

“Making sure Lance didn’t fall into a coma,” Keith said. Lance tilted his head back from where he was on the floor, cradling his art history notes to his chest. “Uh… you okay?” he asked, peering down at Lance in his dilapidated state.

“I… don’t know,” Lance confessed, continuing to stare at the ceiling. “I’ve been dissociating all day since you told me.”

“Dis— _what?_ Is that bad?” he asked. 

“Only when I’m driving,” Lance reassured him, and pushed himself off the ground and into a sitting position. He patted the ground in front of him for Keith to sit. “Shiro knows about it. It’s mostly noticeable when I don’t sleep. Right Shiro?”

“Yeah. He spaces hardcore,” Shiro muttered, sidetracked by his own homework. “Takes a few tries to get him to hear you.”

“I’ve noticed that,” Keith confessed. “That’s a thing? Like… they have a word for spacing out too much?” 

“Well, the doctor just sort of mentioned it vaguely a while ago when I was in high school. We never looked into it and I never got psychiatric help ‘cause it’s not as bad as it could be,” Lance confessed, waving his hand to brush the topic aside. “Like, sometimes people have trouble functioning in social situations because of it. I just mostly blank when I walk to class and can’t remember the commute there ‘cause my brain just sorta goes _whoop_ , ya know?”

“No.”

“Your brain doesn’t go _whoop_?”

“Lance, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Like…” His hands drifted away from his head, and fluttered around in the air. Keith just looked at him square in the eyes and shrugged. “Whatever. Point being: thoroughly frazzled but okay.”

“Yeah?”

“I think so.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” 

They stared at one another for a while until Lance snorted and giggled, and Keith started laughing along with him. Lance fell forward and bumped his forehead against Keith’s shoulder. After several minutes of the two of them sitting like this on the floor of Lance and Shiro’s dorm, Keith tapped him on the arm and asked, “Why didn’t you answer me when I called and texted you?”

“Hm?”

“I called you and you didn’t answer.”

“Oh, phone’s being repaired. I dropped it and it broke. Won’t turn on,” Lance confessed lightly as he pulled away from Keith with a sniff. He looked at his art history notebook, and flicked past the architecture section while Keith continued to stare at him. “I was on my loft and I accidentally dropped it.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, but it was super old anyways. So if Pidge can’t get someone to repair it, it’s fine. My Ma’s been tryna convince me to upgrade anyways,” Lance confessed, and he would have continued rambling had he not been suddenly attacked by a tight hug that nearly tipped them both sideways onto the ground. 

Keith pressed his cheek against Lance’s hair, and the few times Lance had the opportunity to return the hug, he was always surprised by how skinny Keith was. “You’re such an idiot I can’t believe you broke your phone,” he laughed. Lance pressed his smile to Keith’s boney shoulder and laughed. He felt like he couldn’t even remember a time where they didn’t know one another. Maybe he dreamed it all because hugging Keith just seemed so natural when the guy wasn’t squirming around. 

Whatever the case, he was glad he had the nerve to ask out a guy like Keith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this is the time to say that I've been dropping hints about a few things:
> 
> I'm not sure if any of you will believe me when I say I've been setting up for Keith being semi-rich, but I've dropped SUPER subtle hints. Keith's a good liar because he knows what people expect of him, and so he's able to use that to get away with things. Like, people expect him to be a broke college student and he'll be like "Sorry can't go to the movies 'cause I'm broke !!" and everyone'll just believe him because it's plausible.  
>   
> Fun fact the class cost $120 total—which included being put on a talent list for artists which would normally cost $50 on its own. NO COLLEGE STUDENT HAS THIS KIND OF MONEY TO THROW AWAY. (Tho I do know someone who was scammed into sending $1k in ITUNES GIFT CARDS to a fake corporation that obtains "tuition tax" like NO WHO HAS THAT KIND OF MONEY TO BE SCAMMED INTO SENDING)  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> As for Lance...  
>   
>   
>   
>   
>   
> And I know there's more but I seriously could not find the one involving Shiro AT ALL. I know it's there but idk where... But yeah! **Dissociating** is a thing and I personally don't suffer from it. I suffer from an average level of spacing out, but nothing to the extent of full-on [dissociating/depersonalization](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4QIa1kSG45A). I really liked Dodie's text descriptions of depersonalization, which I sorta used for the scene where Lance is goin' around the party in a haze lookin for Keith? And when I don't know how to describe scenes where he's kind of zoning, I drop in texts because they end up coming off as concrete evidence that this actually happened, and Lance is like "Oh, that's what that was all about" when he goes and looks at his texts again. He's gotten into the habit of writing notes in his phone, sketching things he sees, just mindlessly when his brain is elsewhere.
> 
> It's not a _huge_ part of Lance's character? It's just kind of how his narration flows? But if you all want me to keep on with dissociating Lance, I could branch off onto a subplot where Lance starts suffering from not having his texts to remind him of things? This is honestly how I work chapter-by-chapter. I'm like "Whoa, I could build on this" and then I decide whether or not I do so I WANT YOUR GUYS' OPINIONS.
> 
>  **And if any of you suffer from dissociation/depersonalization** please tell me about it? If you're willing? I like to take from real life experiences and since I'm seriously just dramatizing and exaggerating my space outs to get in Lance's head, it might help to draw from other peoples' life experiences!
> 
> Sorry long author's note. BYYYE !!


	19. An Artist's Weakness For Art Supplies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm stressed my wrist started hurting the other day and I was like "It's probably nothing" and then this morning it's been pestering me. Hopefully it's nothing *laughs nervously* it's not like I wRITE EVERY GOSH DARN DAY aND need my wrists for it GAWD.

Lance ran on autopilot the rest of the week, and perhaps that was his way with coping with multiple things. It seemed the only times he was fully in his head involved drawing because he was so used to the action of his pencils scratching into paper. He loved how his brain rendered real life and dispensed it onto the page like his own little picturesque version of the images that passed through his mind.

So, by default, he was especially tuned in for his figure drawing class, and without his phone, Keith had showed up after class on Wednesday to talk and walk towards Kingsley. At the time, Lance walked around the corner and saw him talking with Lotor, standing together at the bubbler. And when Lance showed up, Keith dismissed himself from the conversation and reached for Lance’s free hand. They walked to the stairs together, leaving Lotor behind them.

But when Friday came, Keith had warned him that he had to pick up an extra shift at work for a coworker, so Lotor was waiting for him at the bubbler dressed in business-formal wear. His lengthy white hair was pulled back from his face and into a short ponytail, as it had been in the drawing session. Lance spent enough time drawing the man to know exactly how sharp the edges were on that man’s facial features—from his triangular earlobes to the straight curve of his nose. 

His sharp, triangular canines that showed when he smiled at Lance.

“I have to get to downtown soon,” Lotor confessed, tugging off his earpiece and zipping it into his winter coat pocket. “I have people from North Dakota coming in.”

“Sounds fancy,” he said, and Lotor laughed charismatically. As if he was trained to entertain all while flattering the person he talked to.

“Yes, well. Have you made up your mind?”

Lance looked away for a moment, visibly wincing at the offer all over again. “I don’t… really…?”

“I’ll text you the details and I’ll cover the cost of supplies,” he offered. Lance _knew_ he was a sucker for free paints and _expensive art supplies_. Shit, he wouldn’t normally be able to afford his own Primsacolor set that he was now splitting with a girl in figure drawing. He’d be able to use whatever supplies Lotor gave him even _outside_ of the session—and if he was paying for the supplies, it probably meant he actually wanted a legitimate portrait of himself, right? That made sense, didn’t it?

“That sounds _awesome_ ,” Lance confessed, “but I probably shouldn’t. I also don’t have a phone at the moment, so there’s also that.”

“Well, if you change your mind, I still have all afternoon and evening off tomorrow before I leave Sunday afternoon,” Lotor said, and as he talked he pulled out a pen and a small, leather-bound pocket notebook. He started to write as he continued talking—ever the multitasker. “You buy the supplies and bring me the receipt tomorrow at two PM. And if you don’t come, you don’t come. No harm done. Deal?”

Again, Lance mechanically took the paper. He felt guilty for even touching it, but it didn’t mean he _had_ to do anything with it, right?

“O-Okay,” he stammered out, staring wide-eyed up at Lotor.

The man had the audacity to _wink_ before patting Lance on the shoulder. He walked off without another word, leaving Lance thoroughly baffled. He probably stood there staring at the paper without _really_ reading it until he was outside walking home. He felt so use to walking home with Keith now—all last week they walked together, and that brief time on Wednesday had done wonders for Lance’s mental state.

He felt disconnected from the world without his phone. He didn’t have music to accompany him on his walks, and without that minuscule anchor of rhythm and consistency, his brain tended to float on his walks to class. But when Lotor’s note weighing heavy in his hand, he read over the specs for the painting he wanted. Twenty-by-twenty-four canvas. Not too big. Not _royal_ size by any means, but still fairly large for a regular canvas. Did the bookstore even sell that size? He’d have to stop by Blick or something for that size.

It took a decent amount of time for him to realize that he was crossing the bridge, seriously considering going to Lotor’s. _I mean, it’s not every day I get art supplies paid for_ , he rationalized. _And paint is fucking expensive as shit! I could get new brushes, too—just say that my old ones were too bristly now from overuse. I could get borrow an easel from Altea Hall. I’d have to ask one of the attendants at the office. I could get a new bottle of gesso I could get finally try out some_ decent _heavy body acrylic it could be gallery-worthy Lotor’s wealthy enough to be a sponsor I could get in a gallery I could get in a_ real _gallery_ —

Lance felt woozy at the thought. He spent the day in a giddy daze of _living the dream_. This was just the start. Lotor probably knew _dozens_ of wealthy individuals who wanted portraits, or wanted to sponsor his art for gallery showings. He could start his first collection with this, and since all his supplies would be paid for, he could probably crank out three more before he’d have to buy more paints. But then again he’d never painted on a canvas that size before he’d have to ration that shit but if he wanted the paint to raise off the surface sacrifices would have to be made—

“Hey Lance, I asked if you wanted to go to dinner soon.”

Lance looked up from his quick sketch of Lotor with a confused, “Hm? Dinner? What time is it?”

“It’s almost five, dude.”

“Oh, sure. I’m so hungry,” he confessed with a groan, slapping his sketchbook closed and headed off after Shiro to the door. He snatched his student ID on the way, and soon they were off to dinner with the rest of the Kingsley Gang. Dinner itself was dull as per usual, but Pidge had plenty to say about her shitty TAs plotting to ruin the lives of engineering students everywhere. Evidently her TA love to entertain students who appealed to him in hopes of improving their grades, and then saying things like, “Can’t do anything about it. Try harder next time.” 

“I studied the textbook front and back and did _all the practice problems_ and the test _literally_ had _none of it_ on there. Maybe like two or three similar questions, but we learned _nothing_ that was on that exam,” Pidge hissed out through clenched teeth. “But that was the first midterm. We just got the results back so…”

“That sucks,” Lance murmured. “I’m glad none of my midterms are like that. Though I’m dreading art history. I hate memorizing dates.”

“Aren’t all history classes like that? Memorizing dates? Why’d you take it?”

“It’s a requirement! I have to take two art history classes.”

“Not my problem,” she huffed with a flick of her hand.

He laughed and said, “Well, physics isn’t _my problem_ but you don’t see me complaining to you when you talk about it.”

Lance was fairly certain Pidge was about to bite him, but Shiro steered their conversation into the one Nora was spouting off about the Rollo’s new video game they would be playing that night. Immediately after dinner, they set to work pulling Rollo’s television into the study lounge for more room, and while they started screaming over the game, Lance sat on the sidelines drawing them all in small thumbnails and quick, sketchy gesture-drawings of everyone crowded around the television yelling over the collision of guns through flesh and knife against knife. 

Pidge sat alongside him, staring wide-eyed at the screen. “I fucking love _The Last of Us_. I mean, the first one was a classic, but do you see how detailed this is _now_? Like, we thought the _second one_ was insane. Look at it now,” she was saying while Lance started doodling her profile. “And… you’re drawing me again. Perfect. Also, did you draw Ellie there?”

“Yeah.”

“That woman is gorgeous. _On. Point_.”

Lance chuckled a little, glancing over at the game. The room was dark except for the glow of the television screen. “She’s a video game character.”

“Yeah, and she’s _badass_. So what of it?”

Lance snorted and shook his head at her. Pidge could be ridiculous sometimes, and he wished he could take a picture of her goofy smile right then and there. She went to sit closer to the television while everyone was internally panicking over Rollo’s debatable PS4 skills during the stressful parts. All their figures were surrounded in the hallo of light from the screen, and their panic and screams during the scary parts, yelps of relief when they passed particularly difficult sections…

They played _The Last of Us 3_ until quiet hours started and they had to leave the study lounge. Lance went back to his room and got ready for bed. But even after he washed his face and was settled into his bed, sleep became an elusive subject. He slept in one-hour spurts until Shiro got up around ten in the morning. Lance rolled over and peered down at Shiro as he walked out from his closet, buttoning a shirt up. 

“What are you doing today?” Lance asked sleepily.

“Going over to Allura’s. We’re gonna study for a bit,” Shiro replied. “You?”

Lance hummed thoughtfully, resting an arm over his forehead as he turned around to stare at the ceiling. “I… think I might go paint today.”

  


  


Lance had the time of his life shopping at Blick’s Art Materials in downtown Portland. Before leaving Kingsley, he had to clear out space in his art bin to fit the paints that he would later purchase. He picked up a dozen tubes of paint and a new gesso bottle, and spent nearly thirty minutes in the paintbrush section running his fingers over the fine bristles before deciding on six new ones. 

He forked over all the cash he limited himself to that day and kept the receipt in his pocket on the way across Portland carrying a big-ass canvas in one hand, a fold-up easel under his arm, and his art box in the other. It was a rainy day, so the canvas was carefully hidden in a massive plastic bag, collecting drips of water that soaked his jacket sleeve. It was oddly bright out that day considering all the clouds accumulating in the sky. They moved slowly over the sky, just as the cars did passing down the street. He was in the more colorful section of the road, and passed by night bars that were closed for the afternoon, and strip clubs and dance clubs along the way. 

There were monumental murals painted across the buildings, and he passed them in a blur of bright colors and skies. Everything felt like it was doused in sepia like morning light, and he reveled in the sensation of Sunday mornings despite the fact that it was very much Saturday afternoon. Lance peered up at the exterior of Lotor’s apartment complex again before lifting a foot up to push the handicapped button for the doors. They opened up automatically for him so he could transfer all his materials inside. He found Lotor’s apartment number on a wall filled with buttons, and clicked the buzzer to be let in. 

The side door unlocked, so Lance awkwardly maneuvered into the building and wandered down the hall to the elevator. He tapped his fingers on the plastic over the canvas until the elevator pinged and he stepped out into the hallway. He found Lotor’s door partially open, so he knocked and waited for the “Come in!” before entering.

The apartment looked the same as every other time Lance went over there, except there were fabric materials strewn across the massive sectional, and he found Lotor standing in the middle of the living room scowling at them all. He was wearing that same short, black robe, and glanced sparingly at Lance when he entered.

“Hello again. You can set your things over by that door there,” Lotor said, pointing to the small inlet off to the side of the living room, where the bathroom door was alongside the master suite. The plastic rustled loudly as he set the canvas down before wandering over to where Lotor was standing. He pulled the receipt from his pocket and held it out. “Oh, thank you. I’ll give you a check in just a moment. What color do you prefer?” he asked, gesturing to the fabrics before walking off towards the kitchen.

Lance peered at all the fabric, realizing they were bed sheets. All variations of bed sheets, actually. His eyes were drawn to the silky ones, all shining in the light and showing up almost iridescent at certain angles. “I don’t know. My favorite color is blue, but lately I’ve been really liking red.”

“Red _is_ a romantic color, isn’t it? We’ll go with red then,” he replied. He nudged a drawer closed with his hip and clicked the pen against his shoulder. He bent over the counter, writing out the check, and his faint silver hair dipped out from behind his ear. “Would you like anything to drink?”

“Uh, no. I’m good.”

“Glass of wine or something? And if I’m being honest I have juice boxes. I find them entertaining,” Lotor confessed.

“Ooh, I’ll have one of those then,” Lance laughed, walking around the couch and going to the fridge where Lotor gestured to. 

He rifled around the refrigerator for a juice box that interested him—the entire door was filled with them. Eventually he picked out an apple juice one, and stood up to find Lotor leaning over the back of the fridge door. He smiled at Lance and held out a check folded between his middle and index fingers. “Here. Make sure it’s all there and then we can get started.”

Lance walked away from the fridge, reading off the dollar amount on the check. “This is… more than what I bought,” he confessed.

“Don’t worry about it. If everything turns out then I’ll pay you for the painting as well,” he replied with a shrug on his way to the living room. He grabbed hold of the red sheet and flicked it off the couch and folded it twice over his arm. “Shall we?”

“Where are we going?”

“The bedroom. I have a chair set up for you in there,” he replied. Lance hesitated by his art supplies, and figured if he was going to walk into a strange man’s bedroom, he’d come equipped with the easel as his shield. He grabbed it and transported it first, leaning it up against the end of the bed frame. The room itself was spacious and bright with the white colors of the sky filtering through the massive, floor-length windows. 

Lotor went towards the shades, about to pull them down. “Um—no, leave it. Actually—I want natural light, but if we could get the blinds to slit like that,” Lance ordered, rushing over to push his fingers between the blinds to show Lotor what he was talking about. Soon, the bed was doused in horizontal stripes, and they left one of the windows completely open. “I’m guessing you’re looking for a full-body portrait.”

“You read my mind,” Lotor all but purred as he gingerly tipped onto the bed. “Show me how you want me.”

_Lord help me_ , Lance breathed internally as he rubbed his hands down the sides of his face. He cleared his throat and began to direct Lotor into the right position for a vertical portrait. They had the perspective distorted by stretching the sheet over the end of the bed, and having Lotor tipped partially off the high-raised mattress. His hair followed the silk falling down the edge of the bed, and as Lance propped up the fold-up easel and moved the canvas where it wouldn’t obstruct the sunlight, be brought the chair over with it. Lance laid a towel out under him in case any paint spilled, and propped his mason jars of water on a nearby table. 

Lance breathed in sharply and looked at Lotor, lying in pale white against the sheets, black robe deposited off to the side. His eyes were on Lance, and the already-warm air just seemed to go to Lance’s head and cause him to flush bright pink. Lotor had the heat bumped up in the apartment considering he wouldn’t be wearing anything except for the red silk dipping over his hip and covering his crotch, twisted and tangled between his legs.

Light music was playing on the speakers around the entire apartment.

“Ready?” Lance asked.

“As I’ll ever be. How long do you think this will take?” he asked. “Keith said the portrait of him took four, so I averaged six.”

“Probably around there, maybe more. If you want to do this in more than one setting—” Lance started to suggest, but Lotor waved the idea aside. 

“I trust that you can get it done by tonight,” Lotor said, a slight smile on his lips as Lance laughed and shook his head.

“Too much faith in me,” he muttered as he went in with his pencil and laid out Lotor’s form in broad gestures, and the wide, open motions of his arm.

The underpainting took the longest for them to get through. After the initial sketch was finished, he laid out the values in dark reds and light pinks where the stripes of light laid over Lotor’s skin and caught in white lines on the sheets. Lance went wild with everything he ever wanted to try on a canvas this size. It was pure bliss, being given such a wide open range of white, blank space to fill with all the colors he saw in front of him.

He scheduled out the processes in various increments. After the underpainting was done, they took a break where Lotor sat up and the two of them ate the sandwiches pre-made in the refrigerator. Since Lotor couldn’t move the sheets around his legs, he stayed put and sat with Lance by the bed. 

They didn’t talk much the whole time, at least until the break period. “So you and Keith, huh? How long’s that been a thing?” Lotor asked.

“Since third week of school. So around the end of September,” Lance confessed. “Sometimes it doesn’t even feel like we’re dating. Makes the time fly I guess.”

“Is that any way to date, though? If it doesn’t even feel like it’s official?” he asked, and when Lance merely glared at him, he reiterated, “I’m serious. I’ve been wondering, considering Keith said you two haven’t had sex _once_ in the months you’ve been together.”

Lance swallowed down the bread, and licked his teeth. “We haven’t even _kissed_ , let alone had sex. But I shouldn’t be talking about this with you. Keith would probably murder me in my sleep.”

Lotor laughed, glancing towards the windows. His hair was now officially a mess, and it looked like he’d just woken up and lance caught him in the midst of rising from bed. “Yes, well, we all know he’s capable of that. You’re a good man, Lance.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” he said critically, pretending to scowl at Lance. “It’s a tough world out there. God knows nothing’s been easy for me, let alone you two. Your patience is almost saintly.”

“I don’t know about that. I’m not a very patient person in general. It’s hard to just… sit around and wait for things.”

“Says the man who’s spent the past three hours sitting at an easel,” Lotor scoffed. “I need something to drink. Could you get me some red wine? It’s in the cabinet next to the refrigerator on the left.”

Lance got up to fetch it, and finished in sandwich on the way. He brushed his hands off on his pants and grabbed one of the upside-down wine glasses on the counter, and then reached for the cabinet. After pouring the glass for Lotor, he brought it back to the master suite and handed it over. 

“I was just thinking,” Lotor said. “Have you done this before? Painting portraits for people?”

“Not really. I’ve painted Keith and when I was in high school I’d paint students for projects. But never… _freelance_ portraits or whatever,” Lance confessed. “I’ve always wanted to, though.”

“Glad I could help with that,” Lotor laughed, raising his glass before taking a sip. He finished half of the small amount Lance gave him before telling him to set it on the nightstand and change the music. They put on a different genre before Lance helped arrange Lotor’s hair to where it was before against the silk, and fixed up the silk to the perfect replication as what they had prior to the break.

Lance aimed to finish the actual colors in two hours, which would leave touch-ups and closer details to the remaining hour. _I can do this_ , he told himself, breathing out shakily as he swept together a bit of blue and red and mixed it agains this palette. He drifted it through the sleek, gentle slopes of the silk caught and wrapped around Lotor’s legs. 

The silence of painting Lotor wasn’t nearly as painful as Lance thought it was. He was so incredibly busy with the painting that he didn’t even spare a glance at what Lotor must have been thinking those six hours on his bed. When Lance focused on Lotor’s legs, he let Lotor play around on his phone, and painted through several phone calls that made little to no sense to Lance, considering his attention and his mind were elsewhere. 

The large strokes decreased to minute paint brushes the size of Lance’s pinky nail. He washed out his brush after nearly every stroke to ensure that it didn’t clump on the end and screw up the fine streaks of light passing through Lotor’s hair, or the shine of the window streaking over the silk. He layered the texture of Lotor’s skin and hair on his arms, and the wrinkled edges of his finger knuckles, his faint pale fingernails. He laid such care to the subtle parting of Lotor’s lips, and the faint hint of moisture creating a gleam on his bottom lip. His smile lines against hollowed cheeks. The shell of his ear, curving to a rounded point. 

Lance gave Lotor a break as he stared at the portrait, searching for something to fix. He adjusted the background, beyond where Lotor was, and where the majority of the contrast was against Lotor’s white flesh. He improved the fine line between them, and where he accidentally blurred it on Lotor’s shoulder. As he fixed it, he said, “I think… it’s done. You can move now.”

“Are you sure? Is everything all right with my legs I don’t want to fuck up the sheets.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Lance reassured. “If it isn’t I’ll just wing it.”

Lance carved in his signature initials _LM_ into the corner before walking around the easel with a pen to write his full name onto the back of the canvas in small, fine handwriting along with the date. 

“Seven hours. My _God_ what a relief it is to stand,” Lotor grunted out as he stretched, walking over to the easel to see the painting for himself. It was dark outside by now, so much of the light gleams were from memory or by what he leveled out in the underpainting and the photograph Lance took for reference on Lotor’s phone. 

Lance stood patiently off to the side, trying to gauge to look of shock on Lotor’s face as something good or something terrible. He couldn’t quite tell until Lotor looked over at Lance, his jaw slack until his lips pulled into a smile. “If I wasn’t here to witness you drawing, I wouldn’t even believe that you painted this.”

“Really? That really should be an insult but I don’t even care. You like it?” Lance blurted out, hurrying over to see the painting himself. He tried to put himself in the mindset of someone who hadn’t just spent seven hours working with it by hand, but he couldn’t. He saw each stroke as one he did several minutes before, or hours before.

“This is _incredible_ , Lance. I am so impressed,” Lotor exclaimed. “Where should I put it for the time being?”

“Oh—it still needs to dry a bit, but you could lean it up against a wall for now,” Lance said, pulling it up off the easel by the back of the frame. He handed it to Lotor and started to clean up the mess he made. Honestly, with Lotor being completely nude and out in the open, Lance just sort of wanted to book it out of there—to hell with cleaning his brushes and shit. He could take care of that at Kingsley, so he stuffed them into his already messy roll of brushes, capped his paints, and wrapped his palette in the towel he had on the floor.

He followed Lotor out of the room, who grabbed his robe on the way out. As he slipped his arms into the robe and tied the sash around his middle, Lotor gestured with his chin for Lance to set it against the window of the balcony door.

He heard Lotor’s bare footsteps head for the kitchen, so Lance took the opportunity to take a picture with his… nonexistent phone. _Shit_ , he groaned internally. He looked over at where Lotor was signing another check and asked, “Hey, do you think you could email me a picture of this? I haven’t gotten around to replacing my phone yet.”

“Of course. Write your email on this pad here,” he said, sliding a piece of paper across the counter. Lance wandered around the sectional to reach it just as Lotor passed over the check, and dropped the pen beside him on his way across the room. His hand gingerly glided over Lance’s shoulder blades as he passed, casually saying, “I’ve always wanted a portrait of me. This is far better than I could ever imagine—and from a _nineteen-year-old_ as well.”

“Actually eighteen. Won’t be nineteen until next summer,” Lance confessed.

“Ah. One of the summer birthdays. You won’t be able to _legally drink_ until you’re a senior— _that’s_ a bummer. Same thing happened to me. I was young for my class,” he confessed with a tsk. “Graduated when I was just _barely_ twenty-one.”

“What for?”

“Just… business management-related stuff. Hate getting into the specifics with people who don’t _really_ know me,” he confessed as he wandered back from checking the portrait again. Lance finished off his email and tore the page from the notepad before signing Lotor’s check without even looking at the amoutn. He stuffed it into his back pocket.

Lotor appeared out of the corner of his eye, and moved in to lay his hand over Lance’s, and the paper that had his email written on it. “You did an _excellent_ job with the portrait, though. I’m entirely serious about that,” he said, voice quiet considering how close he was now. 

Lance practically squeaked out, “I-It was nothing,” as he scooted away half an inch before Lotor pulled Lance’s hand up. His grip wasn’t forceful or tight—Lance could have tugged on it hard enough and gotten free, but that just seemed rude. He was always too _nice_ , too much of a _pushover_. It took serious effort to say no to people. It was a miracle he was ever even able to convince Keith to go out with him, when the guy had specifically said he wasn’t interested before agreeing.

“Lance, look at me,” Lotor said. His demand was light, suggestive, and prompted Lance to turn a fraction towards Lotor. They stared at one another, and Lance noted the steely texture he had seen masked in white sunlight against Lotor’s irises. His pupils were constant pinholes—piercing in every sense of the word. Nothing about his facial expressions were _soft_ or _gentle_. The man was lined in hard edges and hardly seemed capable of tenderness in the slightest.

Lotor’s other hand came to rest on Lance’s shoulder, giving him a kind squeeze. “The painting is _perfect_. You were _perfect_ , Lance.”

Why did Lance’s mind suddenly go foggy at those words? Why did his brain seem to ooze like every other time someone complimented his work? He would never get used to it. Truth be told he lived through every critique just _waiting_ to be called out on his bullshit—like he was never _made_ for this. Like he was never _made_ to be the cause of the pride and sincerity that Lotor was giving him. 

All that came out was a weak, “Really?”

Their faces were so close that Lotor’s laugh sent wine-tinted breath over Lance’s lips. “ _Yes_ , you were so perfect,” he exhaled against Lance’s mouth before pressing every part of himself to Lance, and pulled the two of them together with his hands over Lance’s forearms.

It had been months since Lance kissed someone, and he shouldn’t have been so surprised by it. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Lotor would try this, but he didn’t exactly _prepare_ for it or _expected it entirely_. Internally he _knew_ he was weak; Lotor was pulling on him from all the small threads in his brain that he cared about the most—his stability as an artist, his work, his _relationship with Keith_.

Lotor’s lips melded against Lance’s, kissing and sucking on them and eagerly trying to part Lance’s mouth open with his heavy tongue. Lance pulled his head back, but Lotor just chased after him, pushing his hips into the counter and leaving open-mouthed kisses across Lance’s jaw and cheeks—

“Lotor, please—” Lance panted, pressing the heel of his palm to Lotor’s shoulder and pushing him away.

“What is it?” he demanded, hands still over Lance’s wrists. He brought them forward, between them, and laid kisses to the blue veins and strained tendons on Lance’s inner wrist. “You’re beautiful, Lance—I want you to know how _incredible_ you are and your painting—”

“Y-You _don’t_ need to tell me that like _this_ ,” Lance blurted out. “I’m not interested! I’m not—”

“Then why would you come here,” Lotor pressed furiously. “You’re _looking_ for validation—I can give it to you if your _shitty_ boyfriend won’t.”

“He isn’t—!”

“So what? Just because he’s a prude doesn’t mean you have to be,” he seethed. Lance was so alarmed by it that the look on his face caused Lotor to drop his wrists as if burned by him. 

Lance pushed off the counter, staggering away from Lotor. His eyes barely left the man even as he stumbled across the apartment to grab his things. He practically ran out of the apartment without looking back at the image of Lotor with his robe hanging from one shoulder, hand furiously trying to smooth the angry wrinkles on his forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm secretly hoping Lance and I share a birthday. Dreamworks, pleeease just give him a June 10th birthday *slides Dreamworks 100 pages of fanfiction in return*


	20. Running Marathons Whilst Drunk & In Emotional Pain

Lance was crying before he even realized it, and maybe that was because it was still drizzling out and blending against his hot skin and burning eyes. He half-ran out of the apartment complex even though he knew Lotor’s window was on the other side of the building, and there was no way Lotor could see him now. 

He felt sick in every sense of the word—from his headache to his stuffy nose to the way his chest hurt and his stomach ached. He was exhausted and hungry—mostly hungry—and tried to tell himself he was being overdramatic because of his lack of food that day, but rational thought couldn’t even convince him of it. He was always so damn emotional. He couldn’t keep his head fucking straight he couldn’t do anything right he shouldn’t have gone there he shouldn’t have been brought in by fancy free art supplies he’d never get to touch in half a millennia. 

He stood under the domed ceiling of the bus stop and tried to calm his rapid, panting breaths. He had the fold-up easel tucked under his arm and his art bin was clenched in his white-knuckled fist. His eyes filled with tears again because of all the water dripping from the domed roof and he was all alone so who fucking cared anyways. He was a broke college students with starry hopes of getting by in life with a goddamn fine arts degree.

Lance tipped his head back and yelled, “ _What the fuck is wrong with meee! Fuuuck!_ ” at the top of his lungs, his voice giving out and shaking at the end. 

When the bus pulled up, the easel nearly slipped out from under Lance’s arm as he hurried to the door. He caught it and scrambled up the rain-slicked steps, scourging around in his pockets for his wallet and the probably-damp checks he should _really_ put in his wallet. The bus driver waited for him, but it felt like she was tapping her finger against the wheel in annoyance, and the few people on the bus were glaring at him to hurry the fuck up already.

“S-Sorry,” he stammered out, feeding in the dollar and searching for coins. 

“It’s no problem,” she said.

“I d-don’t have any quarters,” he confessed, completely aware that his teeth were clattering—not _just_ from the freezing rain, but also the fact that he was _so sure_ he was going to break down in the front of that bus.

Thankfully, he didn’t bawl his eyes out. Someone from the back came forward with a few coins and fed them into the machine for Lance since his hands were full of art supplies and his wallet with the two checks. “Thank you so much,” he blurted, and the woman just gave him a small smile and said, “Don’t worry about it. I had some spare change on me.”

He sat in the back seat for the forty-five minutes it took to get to Kingsley with public transit. He spent that time in between brief spurts of panic where his eyes suddenly swelled with tears again, and it took long, heavy breathing exercises to shove them back down and into his chest where he’d probably store them for later, or at least until he got some food to binge-eat. 

When he was a stop away from Kingsley, he realized that the dining hall wouldn’t even be open. He stayed on the bus for a few more stops before stepping off at the one nearest the Co-Op. He had his wallet safely stored in his art bin, so he stood outside for a while hoping that the rain would calm him down. 

It did calm him down, for a little while, until he got around to knocking on the door of the Co-Op, realizing too late that the party was starting at nine. It was past eight by now.

He didn’t recognize the guy who answered the door, and he suddenly felt like he was at some fast food restaurant asking the cashier for a hug. “I, um, I’m just looking for Keith. He doesn’t know I’m c-coming at all,” Lance confessed.

“Ah, yes, the artist,” the guy said, gesturing for Lance to come in. The guy was wearing a skimpy skirt and neon orange nails, but at the time Lance didn’t even really care to notice it much. “Come on, sweetie, I’ll show you to Keith’s room.”

“Th-Thanks,” he stammered, ducking his head as they walked through the house together. 

The guy put his arm around Lance’s shoulders after helping carry the easel. There were people still frantically setting up for the party, and it was a miracle that Lance didn’t see Shay or Nyma. They were barely past the kitchen when Lance dug his heels into the wood and pulled the guy to a stop. 

Lance nudged his hand over his eyes and stared at the floor for a moment. “What’s the matter?” the guy asked.

“I… probably shouldn’t be here. I’ll just talk to Keith later,” he confessed, glancing back the way they came. He still couldn’t look the guy in the face properly, but at least now he could actually note the skirt and the neon orange nail polish, the fact that he was in stilettos, and there were black lights on overhead. He felt dizzy under the assault of bright colors and trippy lighting.

“You sure?” the guy asked. 

“Yeah. I’m fine. Sorry for bothering you,” Lance mumbled as he turned and hurried back to the door. He panicked at the idea of _any_ of them seeing him there like this. He’d hate for them to ask questions. He’d hate to confess how idiotic he was at that moment.

He left the Co-Op, and the rain was barely a drizzle then. He walked back to Kingsley in a mist of cold, damp air. It felt almost as though something was leeched to his forehead, causing his brow to condense and his attention to focus solely on his raging headache. _Dehydrated, probably_ , he thought. Crying always did that to him, and he hadn’t drank much since going to Lotor’s apartment that afternoon.

By the time he got back to Kingsley, his fingers were numb, and he felt like complete and utter shit. He stopped briefly at his room, surprised to find the door locked. He assumed Shiro was with Allura or something, and he was grateful for it. At that point, he didn’t want to see anyone, let alone talk to them.

Cleaning his brushes was a pain in the ass, but it had to be done if he ever planned on using them again. Some of the bristles were already crusty and he practically chucked them into his brush roll like a child. Immediately afterwards he internally apologized to them—they were too precious to abuse.

Lance spent _far_ too long in the shower. The fluorescent lights of the bathroom led him to squint sleepily, and see the walls in a haze of blurry eyelashes pebbled with moisture. He swayed in the stall like he was underwater, letting the current swish him to and fro. Eventually, he got around to washing his face, and afterwards, he found himself climbing straight into bed in his underwear with his clothes from that day sopping on the floor from the rain.

  


  


At some point in the middle of the night, there was an obnoxious knock on the door followed by a loud, belligerent, “ _Open the door shithead! I—godda talk to yoou!_ ”

Lance barely opened an eye as he heard Shiro groan from the other loft. “Who is it?” Shiro grunted, shifting on the loft to get up. 

The person tried the door handle and found it locked—Shiro was paranoid about locking the door most days. Lance moaned miserably, rubbing the crustiness from his eyes while Shiro practically hurtled himself from the loft as the visitor started hammering on the door louder, probably waking up the neighbors and the entire hall.

Shiro muttered, “I’m _coming_! Hold your horses,” before unlocked the door. Not a split second later he _narrowly_ missed another black eye when the door swung open, and Lance squinted to find a familiar black-haired guy barge in, tripping over Lance’s sopping wet jeans and t-shirt on the ground.

Keith was cussing like mad, slurring his words, before he tried to grab Lance by the ankle from where he stood on the floor. Lance kicked his legs, already thrown awake by Keith causing such a ruckus. The sheets twisted around his calves as Keith yanked and pulled on them, freeing them from the mattress altogether. 

“Whoa—! Hey, what are you doing? Stop that!” Lance cried out, swatting at Keith’s hands.

“You— _shithead_ —I _told you not to!_ I told you not to!” he retorted, growling out the words between clenched teeth. 

Shiro tried to pull Keith away, but again had to dodge another black eye when Keith whipped his elbow out behind him. “Careful! Geez, Keith, you seriously need to calm down,” Shiro said. “It’s quiet hours and everyone’s asleep.”

“ _This_ fucker better be _wide awake_ considering how much time you spend two-timing me, you piece of shit.” The second he started to go for Lance’s desk, Lance started shrieking and making plans to just jump straight from the loft if Keith was coming up here to stab him in the neck. If he died tonight, it would be with both fists swinging and two feet on the ground, that was certain.

“Holy shit someone’s going to break their neck,” Shiro breathed out, unsure whether to stop Keith or Lance first.

The door Shiro attempted to prop open slammed shut, pitching them all into darkness the second Lance jumped from the loft and landed _hard_ on the ground. “Shit!” he cursed, tripping into Shiro and shrieking when he heard Keith coming for him. “Don’t hurt me! Holy shit Shiro be my meat shield!”

“I’ll show you meat shield you soggy cunt—”

“ _Whoa_ , whoa, okay let’s find the lights. Let’s find the lights,” Shiro interrupted, starting to walk towards the door with Lance still clinging to him. The second he flicked on the switch, they were tossed into blinding white light. As Lance tried to adjust to it, Shiro intercepted Keith from straight-up attacking Lance. “Keith, you’re drunk and I need you to leave,” he demanded, and it was one of the few times Lance ever witnessed the #1 RA Dad Voice. It was intimidating as fuck, and probably would have succeeded had Keith not been wasted and had other plans in mind.

He jabbed a finger at Lance, who was half-cowering in his closet. “Rick said you came to the Co-Op _with your art supplies_ like fuck we had plans—you were with Lotor, weren’t you? And you thought you could come straight to me right after like I don’t give a shit because I do!” Keith all but shouted. 

Lance heard a door open out in the hallway—probably their neighbors trying to listen in. _God_ , and Shiro was looking at him. They were both staring at him like he had _something to say on the matter_. And, fuck, he wasn’t wearing a shirt or pants and he felt like shit to begin with, so ultimately all the tears from before started to build up again.

“ _Don’t_ fucking do that,” Keith seethed at him.

“Keith, come on,” Shiro insisted. “You need to leave.”

“ _No!_ If he fucks with Lotor, I won’t let him fuck with me!” he snapped, practically spitting the words at Shiro. Lance couldn’t remember the last time he saw _anyone_ as furious as Keith, and it was honestly _terrifying_.

Someone knocked rapidly on the door, and Lance thought, _Great, now the neighbors can come on in and watch the show_. Instead, the door burst open, and he jumped into his closet to avoid getting hit by it. The girl on the other side screeched in surprise, and Lance flinched, realizing it was Nyma. “Shit, Lance, you scared me,” she said, slapping her hand over her chest. She was swaying on her high heels, and Shay came barging in after her, looking pissed as all hell. At least her hair looked cute, though.

“Keith,” she fumed, snapping her finger harshly. “Get the fuck out of Lance’s room. _Right now_.”

“ _No!_ ” he snarled like a child. 

“You made Lance cry!”

“He’s an _attention-seeking whore!_ Why are you siding with him?” Keith all but screamed at the top of his lungs, and Lance could see Shay’s fists clench, shoulders bunching up to her ears.

“I’m not going to say it again. Get your ass out of their room before I kick it out of here,” she seethed, and as Keith argued back, Nyma stepped into his closet with Lance, eyes half-lidded and unfocused as she clasped both hands on his shoulder.

He felt so disoriented. He felt like he was as drunk as Nyma at this point, and honestly wished he was. He didn’t want to feel _this_ awful, hearing Keith scream at him over and over inside his skull. Lance didn’t even want to _think_ about what would have happened if Shiro wasn’t there to intervene. 

“M’sorry, Lance,” Nyma slurred, combing her hands through his hair. She drew her thumbs lazily over his cheeks, brushing away the tears. “Keith likes to run when he’s drunk. He’s super fast.”

“O-Oh,” he stammered, letting her pull him into a hug. She was taller than him now, and her hair was elegantly pulled over one of her shoulders, tucked around the furry hood of her winter coat. 

“’N’ I’m wearing heels,” she confessed as she pet his head. Surprisingly, he found his breath calming, even as Shay practically dragged Keith out of the room kicking and screaming, still snarling at Lance for going over to Lotor’s apartment. When they were out of the room, Shiro shut the door, and Nyma pulled Lance out of the closet.

She held him by the shoulders and sat him down at the futon. She teetered for a moment before dropping down beside him, and practically forced him to lean against her with his head pressed to her chest, her arms around him. “Sh… it’s okay,” she cooed, rubbing her hand up and down Lance’s bare back. 

“Is Keith always like that when he’s drunk?” Shiro asked.

“Not especially,” Nyma purred quietly, kissing Lance gently on the top of the head. “Someone just mentioned that Lance stopped by before the party with an easel and stuff. Keith jumped to conclusions.”

“But is he usually belligerent like that?” he reiterated. Lance kept his eyes on the futon as Shiro continued, “He _seriously_ could have hurt Lance.”

“No… he wouldn’t have,” Nyma reassured him. “Empty threats. Empty threats.”

As Shiro paced the room, Lance tucked his head under Nyma’s chin and tried his best to feel calm again. It was obvious that neither of them believed Nyma, especially not after Keith tried to drag Lance off the loft, and then hit Shiro a second later. It as obvious that Keith meant everything he said, even if it was slurred and drunk and probably not thought through at all. It was what he felt and Lance thought… that he was right.

“I’m so stupid. I’m an idiot,” Lance said, voice breaking as he tried to push away from Nyma. She just tightened her hold on him, letting him sob into her revealing shirt and perfect blonde hair. “I-I ru-ruined _ev-verything_.”

She just shushed him while Shiro came to crouch beside Lance. He held out Lance’s water bottle to him, and so he drank from it in between panicked breaths and when Nyma loosened her hold enough for Lance to move. 

“Did you eat anything tonight? You weren’t at dinner,” Shiro asked, and when Lance shook his head, Shiro stood up and went to their fridge. He rifled around for a cranberry juice bottle, and took two of his granola bars out from a box from the side. “Here, eat this and drink the juice. Your blood sugar’s probably low.”

“Th-Thanks,” he stuttered, sitting up and leaning against Nyma’s side as he ripped open the granola wrapper. He chewed on it sloppily because it was always a task to eat straight after crying, or whilst in the middle of it. Shiro collapsed beside Lance on the futon, sighing deeply and rubbing at his tired eyes. 

They sat in silence while Lance ate the granola bars and started drinking the cranberry juice. By that time, he wasn’t even crying anymore, and he could finally breathe after he blew his nose and chucked the tissue into the garbage. 

“So what happened hun?” Nyma asked, patting him on the back.

“I… don’t want to talk about it. I’m really pissed about it still,” Lance confessed. He spent enough time wallowing about his incompetency to know that he was livid with Lotor for the things the man said about him, and about Keith. “I’m… not gonna go over there again. It was fine until he hit on me.”

“What’d you do over there?”

“I painted him for nearly seven hours. It was probably my best painting ever in existence,” he confessed, scrubbing his eyes clear of gunk before leaning back on the couch with a sigh. “And then he called Keith a prude, and then when I didn’t want to kiss him, he called me a prude. And… I didn’t have enough change for the bus… this lady paid the change for me. And now I’m here.”

“So you did come to the Co-Op? Shay and I just thought it was a coincidence,” she admitted.

“I did go ‘cause I was hungry and I was gonna tell Keith, but… I felt bad. You guys were gonna be having a party and I didn’t want to ruin it,” he confessed, scuffing his foot against the carpet with a sigh. “Seems like I ruined it anyway.”

“It’s, like, four in the morning we didn’t find out until, like, thirty minutes ago. Keith ran straight here like it was life or death,” she confessed, reclining back and crossing her legs. “It was insane. I’ve never seen him run so fast. Rick was wearing stilettos so he couldn’t catch ‘im. Shay probably coulda but she’s in a miniskirt. Did you see? She looked adorable tonight. So cute.”

“No, I missed it. I wasn’t really focusing on what you guys were wearing,” Lance confessed. Shiro scoffed from beside him, crossing his arms. “Do you think… you could tell Keith that I’m sorry? And that I regret everything in life that led me to where I am today?”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Shiro muttered.

“Let him be dramatic for once,” Nyma countered. “And sure, hun, I’ll let him know. I should probably let you get back to sleep. You look like shit right now, no offense. Try and get eight hours of sleep for me, all right?”

“Okay,” Lance agreed, and was too exhausted to even stand up and see her out the door. She staggered across the room, her hand resting against the wall as she opened up the door and lazily stepped through.

After Nyma left, Shiro got Lance two melatonin gummies. He chewed on them as he climbed up to his loft again at nearly four-thirty in the morning. It was a miracle that he was even able to fall back asleep due to his brain trying to reconnect itself to reality instead of that dense pit of self-loathing he hated to wallow in. But after eating, drinking, and curling back up into bed, he was out faster than he’d ever fallen asleep before.

  


  


“Keith has called me twenty times. I’m not even exaggerating,” Pidge said the following morning over a bowl of Captain Crunch. Lance picked around at his cereal, scowling furiously at it. “What the hell happened? All his voicemails sound depressing. I don’t want to listen to that shit at eight in the morning.”

“Still haven’t gotten a new phone,” Lance muttered. “Did you find anyone to fix it?”

She shook her head and asked, “Have you even talked to your mom about it?”

He guiltily looked down. “No… ‘cause I don’t have a phone to talk to her with,” he murmured, glancing away from the table. Pidge slapped her hands down with a groan, just as Flerona and Nora squeezed behind her and into their seats at the table.

“Yeah, we heard a lot of screaming last night,” Flerona said. “What happened? Was that your boyfriend?”

“ _Was_ my boyfriend, I think,” Lance confessed glumly, propping his chin up with his hand. “I’ve never fucked up this badly before. Why am I so weak when it comes to fancy expensive art supplies? It’s like someone flashes a bottle of Golden acrylics and it’s like I’m under a trance or something.”

“I’m not entirely sure what’s going on,” she confessed, squinting at Lance and then at Pidge. “What’s he talking about?”

“Keith thought Lance cheated on him. And since Lance doesn’t have a phone he’s been badgering me to apologize,” Pidge explained. “It’s depressing as fuck! Tell him to stop calling me!”

“Oh yeah, let me just get my _megaphone_ and _screech at the top of my lungs_ across the entire campus,” he blurted out. At this point, even with a decent night’s sleep, he was still irritated about the whole ordeal. He didn’t want to talk to Keith in fear of going through the inevitable breakup ordeal. He hated breaking up with people. He’d only ever been the one to break it off _once_ before, and it was torture. And while he’d prefer it go the other way around, he just… wasn’t sure if he could survive hearing the words come out of Keith’s mouth like he did all his other partners. 

Shiro hopped into his seat and clapped Lance on the back. “It sounds like he just wants to apologize.”

“Knowing him, he’s probably lying and is on his way here to shove a fork through my trachea,” he grumbled, moping over his cereal bowl with a sigh. “He seems like the type of guy to do that.”

“Shove a fork through someone’s trachea?” Nora squeaked, eyes wide. “I don’t know. Why would you date someone like that?”

“Good looks and a mysterious, Ramona Flowers vibe,” he confessed. “He’s so perfect. _Oh God!_ I always obsess over my exes for a week! I don’t want to draw him nonstop again…!” He’d been thinking about it all morning, and so confessing his eminent breakup was less jarring than it had been an hour ago. He didn’t feel like the nerves behind his eyeballs were twisting together, or that his throat was in a knot anymore.

“Ramona Flowers, huh?” Nora drawled. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I always thought she was a bitch in _Scott Pilgrim_.”

“No way! She was pretty cool, right?” Flerona argued, and as they sparked the conversation of _Scott Pilgrim Vs The World_ with the rest of the table, Lance tried to focus on anything other than Keith for the remainder of the meal.

At the end of their meal, just before everyone started stacking their plates and heading out, Shiro’s phone buzzed on the table. He checked it briefly, and then brought it closer to read. “Um… one of my coworkers says someone just stopped by and dropped off something for you,” he said, looking at Lance and then Pidge, and then back at a confused, and quite honestly concerned, Lance.

“For me?” he reiterated, pointing a finger to his own chest.

“Yeah, it wasn’t the postoffice or anything like that. It just has a note on it addressed to you,” Shiro explained. Lance frowned at him as he pushed away from the table and collected his dishes. As he left, everyone else started to clean up, so he hurriedly ran ahead and ducked out of the dining hall before them. The front desk wasn’t far from the dining hall—in fact, it was just a few paces away from the dining hall doors.

The girl at the desk greeted him with all smiles and nice words as Lance asked, “Shiro said someone brought something in for me?”

“Oh yes, let me grab that for you real quick,” she said, spinning around and hopping to her feet. She rifled through the back for a minute and came back with a… decorative glass vase overflowing with a dome of at _least_ thirty roses. Lance had never seen so many red flowers blooming in one vase before, and tied at the stems with a sleek black ribbon and a note addressed to Lance. “Whoever sent this must be very fond of you…” the girl sang as Lance pulled out his student ID and let her swipe it. “You’re all set. Also—when they start to wilt—hang them upside down. Then you can have a bouquet of dried roses. I’ve tried it before and they’re surprisingly fun to light on fire.”

“Yeah, I’ll… _definitely_ be burning these eventually,” Lance mused aloud as he leaned back to avoid a face-full of roses. He attempted to smile at the girl as he turned away from the desk and nearly rammed straight into Pidge, who was waiting behind him with the rest of the Kingsley Gang.

“Um… those from Keith?” she asked, pointing to the roses. They weighed surprisingly more than Lance anticipated—probably because of the huge-ass glass vase filled with water.

“No clue,” he confessed, and that was what worried him the most. “I… can’t see much make sure I don’t run into anything.”

“Yeah, sure thing,” she laughed, guiding the way back to their dorm wing. 

Lance nearly tripped up the steps, but thankfully Rollo and Nora were there to catch him on either end. “Who the fuck sends this many flowers?” Rollo asked, only to be teased by Nora, “Boys more competent than _you_.” He leaned out from behind Lance and reached over to flick Nora upside the head. She cussed and flicked him back, which only started a petty war of slapping hands and weak verbal attacks. Lance rolled his eyes as they arrived on their floor and started down towards his room with all the roses blocking his path.

He didn’t get very far before he heard Shiro say, “You _really_ shouldn’t have come.” 

Lance staggered around the corner saying, “Who is it? I can’t see.”

“Fuck, what’s with all the roses?” 

Lance faltered, catching sight of Pidge’s feet stopped in front of him. His chest felt like something jolted in it, fluttering around like a bird trapped in a cage. _Keith_. What the fuck was he doing here? As Lance considered just how long Keith might have been waiting outside his dorm room, he ducked down and set the bouquet on the floor, abruptly popping back up, spinning on his heels, and running in the opposite direction.

“Wait—! Lance!” Keith shouted as Pidge blurted out, “Whoa, I didn’t know Lance knew how to run.”

Lance skidded around the corner of the hallway where Flerona, Nora, and Rollo were parting ways. He slipped between them with a frantic, “Hide me!” as Rollo cried out, “Whoa, fuck, what’s going on?!” Lance ran ahead got to the boy’s bathroom just as Keith practically shoved through them all on his way after Lance. 

He frantically typed in the code on the lock, and slipped through the door just as Keith slammed into it with his hands, trying to push it open. It was one of those _stupid_ fucking slow-closing doors, and somehow they were just evenly matched to leave a wavering inch-wide crack in the door. Lance pushed his back into it, twisting to the side and trying to ram it shut. 

“ _Fuck!_ Let me _in!_ ” Keith hissed from the other side.

“No!”

“Lance come on, stop being so— _fucking dramatic_!” he snarled, digging his heels into the ground and shoving harder than before. Lance lurched forward, yelping and screaming as Keith burst through the door, staggering and trying to catch his balance.

His feet were on the move before Lance even realized what he was doing. He ran across the bathroom to the stalls, and locked himself into the very last one, hands jittery and barely able to function. He leapt away from the door as Keith slammed his hands against it, yelling, “Lance, _please_ let me talk to you. Just for a minute!”

“You stay on that side, I stay on this side,” he insisted, hurrying over to the window in the handicapped stall. It looked down at the parking lot two floors down, and Lance sat on the sill, staring at the stall door. 

Keith slapped his hand on the door once more with a groan. “ _Fine_. But I won’t hurt you if you let me go in there with you.”

“You tried to drag me off my loft last night.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

“You almost gave Shiro a black eye. _Twice_.”

“I know, and I’ll apologize to him too. But you’re more important so I want to talk to you first. About last night and… whatever the fuck happened,” he sighed, and the muffled _thump_ was probably his forehead bumping into the door. “I get really weird sometimes when I drink too much. I try not to drink a lot and I won’t blame it on anyone, but… I’m not going to pretend like… me being completely smashed is totally normal. When I found out that you came by the Co-Op with… all your art shit… my first instinct _shouldn’t_ have been run a marathon to get over here and cuss you out.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Lance said, breathless as he remembered how fucking terrifying it was to wake up at four AM with Keith hammering a hole through his door. 

“I’m sorry about that. Lotor just really _pisses me off_ and I _told you not to go over there_ and you _did_ ,” Keith said, his rage seeping into his words like he was barely hanging on to the control that would lead to more swearing. Lance tucked his head against his knees, staring at Keith’s feet on the other side of the door. He paced away from the door for a moment, and came back to say, “But Nyma said you _did_ go over there. Tell me you did.”

Lance stayed quiet for a moment, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat. “I went to his apartment yesterday. I painted a portrait of him.”

“Nyma told me you said it was the best painting you ever made.”

“Yeah. It took seven hours. Kinda wish I w-woulda kept it, but I seriously don’t want a twenty-something-foot canvas of his face in my room.” They both laughed bitterly at the thought, and Lance looked out the window with a sigh. “I-I meant to tell you. When I went to the Co-Op. ‘Cause I was _so_ … I don’t know.”

“No, tell me,” he said.

“I was a mess. I shouldn’t have gone over there.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had a small meltdown when I left Lotor’s apartment. He was super nice and then when I wouldn’t kiss him he said some mean things about you and how I’m an _attention-seeking whore_.” 

“I shouldn’t have said that to you,” Keith murmured quietly against the door. “I shouldn’t have called you that. You aren’t, Lance.”

“Yeah, well, it’s something you both agree with so it must be true,” Lance laughed hollowly, pushing his hands over his eyes. Moisture came off on his fingers and he laughed again. “God, I can’t even c-control my _emotions—_ I can’t do anything right. I’m just looking f-for _validation,_ aren’t I? Oh poor Lance, _pity me_ — _No_ , don’t come _over here—_ ”

Keith lowered down onto the ground and got on his stomach, weaseling through the crack under the door. He dragged his legs through and tucked his knees underneath him, pushing off the ground and hurrying across the stall to where Lance was completely beside himself on the windowsill. Keith leaned over the sill and wrapped his arms around Lance’s shoulders, holding him tight and with his cheek pressed to Lance’s hair. 

Lance apologized again and again as Keith squeezed him around the shoulders, half-dragging him off the windowsill so they could stand together in the handicap bathroom stall. Eventually, Lance managed to hang his arms loosely around Keith’s hips, and hug him back without feeling guilty for it. “I know I shouldn’t have gone over there,” he breathed out, exhausted from crying. His face felt stiff. “I was drawn in by the promise of free art supplies.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

“So I’m guessing you weren’t the one to send the flowers, huh?” Lance murmured, feeling Keith shake his head against his own. He pulled back just a tad and pressed his lips against Lance’s tear-stained cheeks.

Keith retracted with his tongue sticking out. “You taste like salt. Bleh,” he said, licking his lips before pressing the back of his hand to them. Lance giggled, reaching up and brushing his hands over his damp cheeks to clear them off. “This is what I get for attempting to show affection,” he complained.

“I appreciate the effort, but you don’t have to,” Lance said, smiling as he bent down and yanked tissue from the toilet paper roll. He blew his nose into it and chucked it into the toilet. He rubbed his cheeks clean with gross, rough tissue before flicking it into the toilet and flushing. “I _seriously_ need to splash some water on my face. I feel _disgusting_.”

“Wait,” he interrupted, stopping Lance from going any farther with his hand clasping onto Lance’s. He looked _scared_ , and Lance realized that the last time he recalled Keith looking like this happened to be when Lance guiltily confessed that he wasn’t cut out for a relationship with someone as perfect as Keith. “Are we… okay? Are you okay with us still being together?”

A smile broke out across Lance’s face. “Um, are you kidding? _Yeah_ I’m okay with it, as… long as you are, I mean.”

Keith laughed, the tension lifting from his features as he walked towards the door and after Lance. “Yeah, I’m okay with it,” he confessed.

When Lance finished washed his face, still dripping with water, they wandered back towards Lance’s dorm while he explained what the portrait looked like in as much detail as he could without showing a photograph. He mapped out the size of the canvas in relation to the door before ever opening it. Pidge was in the room, standing over Lance’s desk and reading the note attached to the ribbon on his rose bouquet. Shiro sat backwards on his desk chair, and spun towards them when they entered.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Lance asked, grabbing a towel and rubbing his face dry. Keith stepped across the room to stand alongside Pidge, tipping his head to read the letter. 

“The flowers are from Lotor,” Shiro explained, causing Lance to pause and drop the towel from his face. 

“Honestly I was hoping they were from my _mom_ , but whatever,” he muttered. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Pidge laughed a little and said, “Yeah… but I don’t know if she’d think you’re worth thirty roses.”

“ _Harsh_!” he cried out, hand clasped to his chest as he stepped between Pidge and Keith to snatch the letter. Now that he was looking at it, his name was written similar to how it was on the checks Lotor gave him… “Can you go into my art box? I stashed two checks in there,” he said, wandering away from them as he read out, “‘ _Dear Lance, It was nice spending the day with you. I had a great time last night. Love, Lotor._ ’ What a pile of horseshit. He makes it sound like—”

“You mean these?” Pidge said, dropping the lid of his art box and holding out the two semi-wrinkled checks. “One of them is all wrinkly from the rain, but— _Shit!_ Holy shit, dude, is this how much it costs to get a portrait done?”

Keith snatched it out of her hands to look at them. Lance watched his eyes widen a fraction, before looking up at Lance. “You said one of these was for the art supplies, right?”

“Um, yeah. It should be around a hundred-something,” he confessed, hurrying over and leaning against Keith’s shoulder to see—

—that Lotor wrote him a check of a thousand dollars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By this point I hope you all know that my cliffhangers are soft. They are soft cliffhangers. Gentle cliffhangers.
> 
> Honestly when it comes to updates, I LITERALLY am in the habit of writing 1k+ a day and when I don't it's, like, brain-panic-mode because I haven't been able to get my ideas out. So last night I went to bed thinking about Lotor and how I'm going to destroy everyone and everything in my wake when that all comes to fruition.
> 
>  **EDIT:** Just wanted to mention for readers who aren't familiar with asexuality and "personalities" of such-and-such people who are ace that it's not a matter of NOT loving someone. So Keith CARES about Lance, he just doesn't care much for showing that affection on a daily basis. As for Pidge, I imagine she couldn't care less about love because she thinks it's fickle. She has a Shakespearean view (based on my own analysis and viewpoint) which is to say love makes people stupid AF and can get you killed so she doesn't want to deal with it lol. If her cause of death was love she'd probably have them write on her gravestone "Pidge Gunderson Fucking Deserved It."


	21. Slight Adventure Through Feelsville

“Lance has been comatose all day. I repeat, _all day,_ ” Pidge reported into her phone, and promptly sent it to Flerona and Nora down the hall. Lance groaned from the futon where Allura sat on the ground, leaning back so when she tossed her hair up behind her, it blanketed his legs and tickled his knees. 

“I’d be comatose too,” Allura mused as she flicked through a powerpoint on her computer. Shiro sat beside her, his hand hooked over her leg, and his other hand scrolling through notes. “I’m kind of concerned about people who just have that sort of money lying around,” she said, looking up at Keith. He was sitting across the room from them on his computer. He shrugged, and before he could say anything, Pidge interrupted.

“I know, right? It could have come from anywhere. Like, a dubious drug deal or something,” she said, only to be laughed at by Shiro. “What?”

“‘Dubious’ is such a bizarre word,” he said.

“It’s a _word_ , though, isn’t it? Stop laughing at it,” Pidge whined, reaching over Allura to flick him in the side of the head. “All I’m saying is that we already know Lotor’s sketch. What’s his deal?”

“It’s the company his family owns,” Keith said, turning his attention back to his computer. Lance tipped his head to the side to see him frown, brow furrowing. “My grandparents hate them. They’ve been fighting them for years now over environmental legal shit.”

“What do you mean?” Allura asked, intrigued. “Like, do you guys have a family feud with them or something.”

“Hell no. I don’t give a shit about their family,” he said, scowling. “My grandpa’s taken Lotor’s company to court before, but they won a few years back. He’s been trying to pin them down again ever since.”

“What does the company do?”

“They own fracking corporation and have decimated the wildlife around their sites. But because there’s basically _no_ regulation on wastewater disposal, it’s difficult to stop them from doing whatever the fuck they want with contaminated water,” Keith explained.

Lance sat up a bit, and the action caught Keith’s eye for a moment before he grumpily turned his attention back to his computer. “Yeah, but… I doubt that whole situation has anything to do with this. Like I said, it’s not a family ‘war’ matter.”

“Are you sure?” Allura asked. “I mean, it sounds like Lotor _would_ stoop that low.”

“Whatever happens to me is irrelevant to my grandparents’ company,” he told her, forcefully jabbing the ‘delete’ key a few times before adding, “I mean, fucking with my boyfriend—pardon the French—would only pissed me off, which would only solidify my hatred for their company and do them no good. So… no. Not a family-feud situation. He’s either seriously interested in Lance, or just wants to screw with one of us or both of us.”

“And all of those options aren’t exactly desirable,” Lance commented with a huff, scowling across the room. “This sucks. I hope I never have to see him again.”

“Well… at least you got _something_ out of the whole endeavor,” Pidge commented. “I would sell my body and soul to anyone who gave me a grand per painting.”

“It wouldn’t be a _good_ painting,” Shiro jested soto voce—just loud enough for Pidge to hear and glare at him for. 

“I’ll have you know that I have _excellent_ potential.”

“You want to bet on it?” he retorted, casually flipping a page in his textbook as he turned a challenging eye in her direction.

Lance could practically feel the exhaustion in Allura’s sigh. “Whatever. So let’s just assume Lotor is _seriously_ interested in Lance. Wouldn’t you say it’s kinda weird that a twenty-something-year-old is into an eighteen year old?”

“I mean, I’m practically twenty,” Keith said. “Shiro’s twenty. He’s dating you.”

“ _Oooh_ ,” Pidge said, and both Allura and Shiro gave her a dull stare. “But seriously Lotor’s probably, like, twenty-four or something if he’s out of college.”

“Twenty-five, actually,” Keith muttered, slouching so as to duck his head behind his computer screen. “I may or may not have googled him. A while ago. Like, as soon as I found out what his last name was.”

“I’m impressed by your hate-obsession with Lotor,” Lance commented, grinning cheekily as he saw Keith bristle at the idea of being labeled by the words “obsessed with Lotor.”

Pidge tipped her head back against Lance’s hipbone, looking up at him as she said, “You’re gonna regret saying that. I can sense it.”

“Yes, because you have such a keen sense of other peoples’ feelings,” he remarked, sticking his tongue out at her.

It wasn’t all that much of a surprise to _anyone_ that the dorm rooms weren’t exactly fit for five people for an extended period of time. Pidge got claustrophobic first, or perhaps her genophobia started acting up because Allura and Shiro were just ridiculous half the time. 

Lance wasn’t even sure if they were still considered to be in the honeymoon phase. Probably. They probably still were, considering they still found it cute to feed each other little snacks or massage one another’s feet, which was what caused Pidge to deuce out of the room. Keith looked tempted to do the same.

  


Luxia was a hit with the entire class. She walked out of the room after the three hours were up, surrounded by students carrying their portfolio bags and asking her about Rome and Paris, and other incredible, cliché places she lived in. Lance wasn’t all that disappointed that he didn’t get a chance to talk to her, but in the end, he found Keith waiting for him, chatting with Luxia and the other students who still fawned over Keith like he was the most beautiful man in the world. It was good to know that Lance wasn’t wrong on that end of things, considering everyone seemed to agree that Keith was a godsend. 

When Lance walked up to them, Keith dismissed himself from the group to meet up with Lance. “Do you wanna drop your stuff off at the Co-Op and then hang out for a bit?” he asked, reaching to grab Lance by the arm and pull him towards the stairs. It the afternoon light streaming through the limitless windows of Altea Hall, Keith looked adorable—his hair haloed, and his eyes bright. 

As they went for the main stairs in the center of the building, Lance said, “Sure, I guess. What are we gonna do?”

“I guess you’ll find out,” he said, smirking as he hurried down the steps, letting go of Lance’s arm so he could hold the portfolio bag for him. 

They wandered out of Altea Hall together, swept together by the flecks of white cascading from the sky. Lance tugged on his gloves and zipped his coat up the rest of the way. The snowflakes were massive, and they caught on his hair and clung to the fabric of his coat. Keith had his red scarf circling the collar of his coat, and shielding his chin from the cold. 

They left footprints in their wake along the dusty white sidewalks matted down by students before them. Lance was glad he decided to wear boots for the occasion, and a heavier jacket to protect him. Keith must have been in a mood or something, because he would kick snow up ever now and then just for the satisfaction of covering Lance’s jeans in it. Once he even took a running start and skidded across a patch of ice all while Lance was shrieking about how he had to be careful about the portfolio bag. 

When they got to the Co-Op, it was creepier than usual and reminded Lance of the Dead Woods setting in _Mortal Kombat X_. All the oak branches were spindly and covered in snow, and there was already a half-assed snowman out front. Keith tapped off the snow from one of the _Rape Is A Preexisting Condition_ sign before trotting up the steps. 

“Don’t even worry about your shoes,” he said as they wandered inside, stomping their feet on the carpet already damp with slush. “You want anything to eat?”

“Um… no, I’m good. I’m just gonna wait for the dining hall to open,” Lance confessed as they passed the kitchen, and wandered down the hall to Keith’s room. 

He unlocked the door as Lance shrugged off his backpack. They stashed all their shit in Keith’s room before heading out. The Co-Op was rather quiet that day, except for two guys in the kitchen who were making a batch of hot chocolate for the house. Keith waved hello and goodbye to them with Lance trailing after him. 

The second they were outdoors, Keith bumped shoulders with Lance, and they both laughed. Lance mainly did so because he wasn’t sure what was going on. “What is _with you_ today?” he giggled, linking arms with Keith. With their winter jackets on, it was like looping two fluffy, oversized caterpillars together. “You’re being so…”

“What? Weird?”

“Yeah, but it’s cool. I dunno,” he confessed, grinning uncontrollably as Keith dragged his hand over the tops of the wooden fence posts, knocking off inches of snow from it. 

They hopped onto one of the campus buses that Lance rarely used. At every stop Lance asked if they were getting off, but Keith just shook his head from where he leant it on Lance’s shoulder, staring out the window. Lance _knew_ he shouldn’t have felt so special, having Keith treat him like this. But suddenly it felt like he was glowing under the attention, and it was so marvelous that he couldn’t help but preen whenever Keith smiled over at him.

When the bus approached their stop, Keith just hopped right up and walked out without warning Lance. He scrambled after Keith and nearly slipped on the ice outside the door, but Keith caught him and held him by the shoulder.

“Dude, be careful. No need to crack your skull open today,” Keith laughed.

“Shut up. I’ll have you know I had _excellent_ balance,” he said, puffing his chest out. 

They started walking and Lance noted that it was beginning to smell like cow shit and hay. Arnette’s barns and greenhouses were in this area, along with many of the environmental sciences buildings. They passed by all the cows and equipment barns covered in ivy, and eventually the clear domes came into view. 

“Are we going to the greenhouses?” Lance asked, and when Keith only smiled, Lance gasped again, “We’re going to the greenhouses! Hell yes!”

“Be quiet, you fool,” he hissed, laughing all the same. “And _yes_ , we are going to the greenhouses.”

Even as he said it, they bypassed the greenhouses altogether and came to a weird concrete building with a garage door on the side. Keith swiped his card and cranked open the door, letting Lance in first before entering himself. They were in what looked like… a really crusty garage covered with gardening tools and supplies, along with a gross-looking sink. 

“Um… where are we?” Lance asked, his eyes following after Keith as he turned on the lights and led the way into the building.

“I want to show you something,” he said, leaning over and snatching Lance’s gloved hand. He forcefully dragged Lance across the garage and down the hall, around a _massive_ tank of water, and a few office doors. They rounded the tank of water to a door with a small, squarish window that peered into what appeared to be… a hallway lined with windows on one side, and doors to separate greenhouses on the other.

They entered the moderate temperature in that corridor, looking out at the white landscape to the left, and the industrial-sized doors on the right. There were potted plants on tables in the hall, or hung up and dangling down. Lance had never seen succulents that size before, but didn’t get the chance to marvel at them as Keith continued to drag him all across Timbuktu to get to the final room in this particular greenhouse.

Keith nudged the door open, pushing it for Lance to see the purpose of their visit. All Lance could say was, “Holy _shit_.”

The room wasn’t necessarily a _greenhouse_ , since it was more like a biome decorated in massive desert plants and cacti that stretched to the ceiling, and palm-like trees growing with their sharp green leaves against the glass. Lance stepped in, eyes wide as he took in the sheer scale of the cacti growing in their own little plots lined by rocks, and guarded between pebbled paths. 

“This… is…” he started, walking down the row and avoiding the massive needles jutting from one of the plants, “ _incredible_. It’s, like, a desert _garden_ or something!”

“They’re called biomes,” Keith laughed, following after him. He took the parallel path, following Lance underneath warm, tungsten lights. “My class helps maintain some of the drier climate biomes.”

“Seriously? And you, just… never thought to _mention_ that you spend your days around cacti? In all honesty that makes total sense, so I don’t know why I’m so surprised,” he confessed, rambling as he reached out to drag his finger down the length of one of the spikes roughly the length of his middle finger. “So spikey.”

“Ha, yeah. They come from all over the world. We have one of the largest species collections for a college,” Keith confessed. “We have a rainforest biome, and a swamp biome… we have, like, fifty different versions of oak trees…”

“I never even knew there were different versions.”

“Yeah. I could show you them, too. If you want.”

“Is this a date?” Lance asked, grinning triumphantly when he got Keith to blush and turn away. “It _is_. Hell yes. I am all about greenhouse dates. So what all’s in here?”

They met up at the end of the row, and Keith walked him around the desert biome, pointing out plants and telling him weird, ridiculous facts about them that Lance never would have thought to consider. They found a small ladybug perched on one of the lengthy blades of a spiked leaf, and spent far too much time looking at succulents for it to be healthy.

As Keith was explaining how they propagated all of the plants here, he said, “I… actually started propagating a few succulents after our first date because I figured if you were going to show me what you’re all about—painting and stuff—I should… give you something that I’m all about. I guess?” 

It took a moment of silence for Lance to comprehend it. “Wait—you’re growing succulents for me? And… you have been for over a month now?”

Keith nodded, and as Lance laughed hysterically, hands flopping over his face, he said, “Well, I mean, I don’t want you to think this is all a one-way street! Like, I was afraid that after our first date you thought I was just entertaining you for a while and that I didn’t _like_ you.”

Lance stopped laughing and brushed his hands under his eyes. “Wait, really? You thought that?”

“Well _yeah_. I mean, who wouldn’t?”

“Oh come on. It’s fine! You didn’t _have_ to grow succulents for me, even though… ya know… I’d really like some succulents,” Lance confessed, giggling as Keith rolled his eyes, still blushing madly. “Can you show them to me?”

Keith led the way out of the desert biome and to a neighboring door. The room was sectioned more like a greenhouse, with tables featuring shallow trays of small sprouts underneath various light sources. Keith took him to a tray in the center table, divvied up into smaller sections so the whorls of spiked leaves could stay in their own places. 

“These green and red ones are from the European Alps,” Keith explained, “and they’re called mountain houseleek. They usually grow in high altitudes, but… these ones are from South Africa. You might have seen them out in the corridor—they grow in hanging pots and just sorta flop over.”

“Yeah, I liked those ones.”

“I also got you one of these dome-shaped cacti, because I figured you’d think they were cute.”

“They are super cute,” Lance confessed, clasping his hands under his chin as Keith went on to name several others. He barely finished explaining everything before Lance was saying, “Keith, I love them so much. I want all of them.”

“Well you can’t have _all_ of them. Some of them are for class,” he replied. “But you like them?”

“Keith. I _love them_ ,” he argued, clasping Keith by both shoulders and giving him a shake. “I love all of the succulents. This is literally the greatest thing anyone’s ever done for me. Except, you know, my parents helping me pay for college. But _still_. The greatest thing.”

“Really?” he said, eyes lighting up.

“Yes, really.”

“Do you think I can kiss you? Right now?” Keith asked, his hands reaching up to grab hold of Lance’s wrists.

Lance’s brain short-circuited for a moment, and he barely got it back on track before he was stammering out, “Um—I—wait, what?” All the heat in his entire body rushed straight to his face, and condensed in his burning ears. It wasn’t every day someone asked him that very same question that just flew straight out of Keith’s mouth and lodged itself into Lance’s dilapidated brain cells.

Keith cleared his throat, looking elsewhere as he murmured, “Well, I mean. I don’t… want you to think I’m inconsistent or anything by kissing you. Considering… You know…”

“Yeah, but—I mean—you _want to kiss me?_ Like, you _really_ do or are you just saying that?”

“ _No_ , I’m not just saying that. On rare occasions I feel like kissing and this is one of them. So is it okay if we kiss? Like, right now?” he asked, and just the way he said it had Lance’s brain sparking again. Was it just him or did someone just kick him in the back of the knees? “ _Lance_ , stop being such a twelve-year-old,” Keith whined.

“N-No, it’s just—is it possible to have a crush on someone you’re already dating? I feel like my brain just set itself on fire,” Lance confessed, reaching a hand up to his hair. Since Keith’s hand was still connected to his wrist, it might as well have just been an excuse for Keith to hold him by the face, lifting both hands up to drag Lance forward.

Lance wasn’t expecting anything perfect, by any means. In fact, at this point, _anything_ would have been perfect with Keith. They could have been in a junkyard and their first kiss would have been _spectacular_ in his opinion. It was so overwhelming that by some unfortunate turn of events, though, Lance’s brain just skipped straight over it. His brain marked it off as something that happened, but even the lingering sensation on his lips wasn’t enough to remember how incredible it was.

His mind came back into focus as Keith pulled away, his fingers tracking down the sides of Lance’s jaw as he stepped back, and dropped his hands. “Was that okay?” he asked, lips tense in the form of a grimace. 

Lance’s chest seized up, and he grabbed at his shirt through the open flap of his coat. “My _heart_ —!” Lance shrieked, pretending to faint against the table as Keith cried out, “ _Lance!_ Stop being so _dramatic_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had writer's block all day so this took a century to write this morning D: I hope you guys like it! I honestly wasn't sure if I was even going to include their first kiss at all. It took... I think... seven weeks for Keith to open up like that? They've been dating for like two months now or something to that effect? I don't really have a timeline so it's up for debate.
> 
> I remember I had a conversation with a friend about the fic because we're both ace and I remember saying, "Honestly if they even get around to hugging that'd be an accomplishment" so they've made a lot of progress within seven weeks in terms of Keith's demiromantic side. 
> 
> _Also, here's some links my dudes:_  
> [ **Tumblr**](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/) | [**Twitter**](https://twitter.com/geewiIIikers)


	22. Love-Struck Idiot Feat. Idiot Stray Cats

Lance went to the bank the next day and deposited the checks. If he was going to take shit from Lotor, he might as well get paid for it. The roses were still alive and well, if only slightly crowded in that vase. He started taping them upside down against the walls to dry straight, and it was at this time that Shiro came strolling in. “Um… what’s goin’ on with you?” Shiro asked, surveying the roses lining their walls.

“Oh, just… drying some roses. So I can burn them. Probably get some cool-ass pictures,” Lance confessed as he ripped a piece of masking tape in two. “We might have a wall of roses for a few weeks.”

“Isn’t that just perfect,” Shiro laughed. “Allura will probably think it’s cool. She’s fascinated by your art, by the way.”

“A loyal fan. I like it.”

“Don’t get too cocky.”

“What was that? Oh, yes, I’m the greatest artist alive. I have the hottest boyfriend on campus. _And_ I’m the most gorgeous, beautiful man you’ll ever see,” Lance boasted, brushing his knuckles against his chest just before being shoved in the shoulder by Shiro for his arrogance.

Lance went back to humming the lyrics of the song he had playing from the speakers, and let his hips sway mindlessly—probably off-beat but he couldn’t care less. It didn’t take long for Shiro to comment on it.

“You’ve been oddly cheerful lately,” Shiro commented.

Lance knew _exactly_ what he could attribute that to. He’d been in a daze trying to remember how the kiss went, how it felt, but in all honesty… he couldn’t care less. He’d try to concentrate harder next time, instead of let his brain flit around like that during the few-second kiss. Whatever the case, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from being giddy about it. 

His chest felt light as he said, “Yeah. Keith and I had our first kiss.”

“You and Keith had your first kiss?” Shiro repeated, and Lance nodded, turning back to the wall with all the roses. “Really? How was it?”

“I can’t remember.”

“You can’t remember?” Lance shook his head. “Why can’t you remember?”

“I dunno. Just can’t. I’m super happy about it though. We were at the _greenhouse_ and it was _perfect_ and Pidge wouldn’t let me rant about it, and I don’t have that many details to spill anyways, but… It was incredible. He was perfect. He’s growing succulents from Africa for me,” he explained, beaming all the while. “I never knew I wanted succulents from Africa until he started telling me all about them. They’re the cutest things and super easy to take care of apparently.”

“You’ve never owned a succulent.”

“No, I’ve just seen them online and stuff, and on, like, Nyma’s Instagram. She has a lot of aesthetic pictures of succulents,” he said. “She also has a lot of pictures of Keith and sometimes I just stare at them for _hours_ before going to sleep—”

“Holy shit I did not need to know that,” Shiro breathed out unsteadily, turning away a fraction so he could unpack his backpack. “And rationally, I thought _Allura_ and I were bad but this is just a whole new level. Just you in general—I’m gonna be real with you for a sec and say that just _you_ in general have the most bizarre way of showing affection and that’s probably a good thing for Keith.”

“Um, thanks? I guess?” Lance chuckled, and added, “I barely slept at all last night if I’m being completely honest. Like, I’ve fantasized about kissing Keith before and now I don’t even know if any of them came true.”

“Okay, now I understand where Pidge is coming from when she says that sometimes you have no filter.” Before Lance could even consider that as an insult, Shiro continued, “And anyways, I’m completely serious—if you can’t get to sleep, _tell me_ and I’ll give you some melatonin gummies.”

“Who needs sleep when you’re thinking about _kissing Keith_ …” Lance cooed, taking a break from pinning roses up to faint across the futon. He held one of the roses to his chest and sighed. “He’s the most incredible human being I’ve ever had the good fortune of painting naked.”

“That’s it, I’m leaving.” Lance thought he was kidding until Shiro _literally_ starting packing up his bag again and making a beeline for the door. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

  


  


**_Facebook Messenger. 1 Mutual Friend: Katie (Pidge) Holt_ **

**Lance:** _I want to cuddle._

**Keith:** _I’m not really feelin it today sorry_

**Lance:** _Aw please? I’ll just lay next to you then_

**Keith:** _Lance cmon don’t be ridiculous_

**Lance:** _I just wanna cuddle yooooou_

_pleeeease?_

**Keith:** _I’ve exhausted all my romantic supply._

_It must be rationed_

**Lance:** _D: im so sad now_

**Keith:** _I will not cuddle anyone who doesn’t capitalize their sentences at this time_

**Lance:** _So if I capitalize my sentences will you cuddle me?_

**Keith:** _…_

_Maybe._

**Lance:** _Can I come over then?_

**Keith:** _… Yes._

_If you come over you might as well stay the night_

  


  


So perhaps Lance didn’t just lie still and quiet and leave Keith to his work. Almost the moment Lance finished dinner, he marched to the Co-Op without knocking, he went straight to Keith’s room, knocked, and came in with his backpack swinging off his shoulder and to the floor. He nudged off his shoes and jacket, hat and mittens before closing the door.

“Wow, you in a hurry for something?” Keith asked, laughing as he nudged himself over to the side of the bed. Lance claimed the side closest to the wall, after a brief understanding that if Keith _really_ wanted to duck out of a cuddle session, he could just flop off the side and not have to worry about weaseling between Lance and the wall.

“I just—” Lance dropped onto the bed, “—really missed you.”

“Quit being such a sap.”

“I’m sorry! I can’t help it,” he confessed, biting into his lip as he nestled down under the big red comforter. Keith was sat above the comforter, his blankets covered with a fluffy blanket, and a lab binder open to the side. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, clicking away on his laptop as he slowly slouched against the pillows, eyes focused lazily on his screen.

Lance nestled as far down as he comfortably could, face partially hidden under Keith’s blanket. He pressed his cheek to Keith’s hipbone through the comforter, until Keith decided to get under the covers with him. Lance brought his knees up to tangle his legs around Keith’s. He sought warmth against the outdoors against Keith’s warm, bare, semi-hairy legs. 

He was half-asleep before his eyes opened on their own accord, and zoned in to the decorative plaid fabric pressed to his cheek. He tipped his head up a bit, chin pressed to Keith’s hipbone beside where the laptop sat partially on his torso. “Are you… not wearing shorts?” Lance asked.

“Problem with boxers?”

“Um, no—”

“Then what’s the issue? My bed my rules,” Keith said bluntly. Lance hummed to himself, and willed himself not to think about it more than necessary. 

Instead, he started rambling in his head about things that sounded like content in a prayer to God, thanking him for this-or-that. He thanked God for Keith’s killer legs that he could weave his own between. He thanked God for Keith’s asthma-inducing thighs topped with _plaid boxers_ —Lance needed an inhaler if he planned on thinking too long about practically hugging Keith’s bum in those plaid boxers. _Shit, infinite thanks for Keith’s hella-rad dry humor, that’s for sure_ , Lance thought to himself. People with dry humor always overwhelmed him with appreciation because he was just _barely_ capable of it himself.

“You’re all squirmy. What are you thinking about?” Keith asked, and Lance realized he was fidgeting and rubbing his feet all over Keith’s.

“Am I allowed to be sappy right now? Or is this a No Sap Zone?” Lance asked.

Keith thought seriously on that for a moment, and Lance nearly expected him to decline. “If it’s for therapy purposes, then sure. Vent away.”

“Let’s just say it is,” Lance blurted out. “I was just thinking about how lucky I am. And how handsome you are… and how lucky I am to have already checked off the box that reads ‘draw Keith naked’… You know, the usual.”

“Oh my God, Lance.”

“You never told me if you got any other gigs. For the modeling,” Lance commented, peering up at Keith.

He looked pointedly at his computer screen, and then his binder as he said, “Yeah, I actually had one the other day. It was just for, like, two hours or something. At an art school.”

“Yeah? How was it?”

“Fine.”

“Can you tell me about it?” he asked, propping his chin up again and partially intercepting Keith's view of his laptop. Keith closed his eyes for a moment, slouching further so Lance’s head rested on his stomach. 

Keith sighed and opened his eyes again, the tiredness showing under and around his eyes in a faint purple-red. “Well… it was pretty much exactly like your class but I had props. She gave me this cool spear thing so I posed with that kind of ironically and everyone thought it was pretty funny,” he explained, rubbing his hands over his eyes as Lance hummed and inquired more.

Keith closed his laptop and set it on the end table along with his lab binder. He leaned to the side over the pillows, letting his arm drape lazily over Lance’s back as he talked about the painting session. He didn’t take pictures of the artwork that time—he just took pictures of Lance’s class because Lance was there and it seemed appropriate. So he explained in as much vivid detail as he could what everyone’s paintings looked like up on their easels. The professor took the entire class around the room to look and critique their peers’ work, and Keith tailed along with them.

Lance could let Keith talk in that sleepy voice forever. He could listen to Keith talk like that for hours and hours, but eventually Keith fell quiet, half-asleep. Lance checked the time on his phone before scooting off the bed. “What are you doing?” Keith asked.

“I need to wash my face and stuff. You want to do a face mask with me?” he asked, glancing over at where Keith had his eyebrows raised. “Oh, come on. It’ll be fun. It, like, scrunches up your skin and you look like a demon when it dries.”

“Why would you do that?”

“It tightens your skin up.”

“But we’re, like, twenty years old. Why would we need that?” Keith argued.

“It’s never too early to start a good skin routine…” he sang as he pulled out a smaller bag filled with all his night routine supplies. “What do ya say? I could ask Shay, too.”

Keith thought about it for a moment, and nodded lazily in agreement. Lance yelped excitedly and ran off to Shay’s room. He knocked frantically on her door until she called out for him to come in. She was at her desk, leant back against the wall, and it was almost as if she was prepared for anything anyone ever threw at her because she was on her feet before Lance even got out the words “face mask.” 

And so, no more than ten minutes later, they found themselves lying horizontal on Shay’s full-sized mattress staring up at the lights and the plants that reflected the green on all of their faces. Keith laid comfortably between them, his hands clasped over his stomach as he sighed.

“This… isn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be,” he confessed, and before Lance could say, “I told you so!” Keith added, “but it still feels weird.”

“Oh come on. Doesn’t it feel funny? It’s fun,” Shay said, slapping him playfully on the arm.

“What’s it’s purpose?”

“That’s such a Keith Question,” she muttered.

“What do you mean?” Lance asked, though he had to confess, it did feel like a common question that wordlessly made it through Keith’s expressions half of the time. Lance believed that it was secretly hidden behind ever stoic, dry look he turned to Lance. 

Shay sat up onto her elbows and looked over at Lance. “Well, I mean… like in social situations. There’s no real reason why people ask ‘How are you?’ because half the time they don’t even care. You know what I mean?”

“Not really,” Lance confessed.

“He’s an ignorant fool,” Keith murmured. He tipped his head towards Lance. “No offense.”

Lance was about to make a snarky remark back, but Shay was faster. “Socializing is general a mundane puzzle. It’s like… navigating a kids maze in a coloring book. One person says this, so generally you take a turn there and say what you’re supposed to, et cetera et cetera,” she explained. “It’s ingrained in our heads as kids like ‘Oh how was your day?’ ‘Good’ ‘Anything exciting happening?’ and if something did you tell them what it is. If not, you say ‘No’ and everyone moves on.”

“This is all well and good, but… is there a point to all this?” Lance inquired, mouth started to curl at the corners from the tension in his face mask. Raising his eyebrow was difficult, but he did it anyway as he looked at Shay from over Keith’s chest.

She opened her mouth to respond, but hesitated. “I can’t tell if that was a _joke_ er not,” she laughed. “But _yes_ , there is a point.”

“It was a joke, but also I’d like ta know the purpose of aw this.”

“The _point_ is that people are shallow and mechanical at the surface,” Keith answered, raising his voice only to cuss and say, “ _Shit_ , I can’t muv my mouf.”

They all shut up and listened to music until Lance’s timer went off. They went one-by-one to the bathroom to peal the mask off, and feel their smooth, replenished skin beneath it after a rinse. Lance went first and showed Keith how to take the mask off before leaving him to it, and then Keith showed Shay. When he returned to Lance lounging across Shay’s bed, he was rubbing his hands all over his freshly shaven cheeks, and his smooth, flawless forehead. 

Lance sat up, watching Keith collapse beside him, fascinated by his now blemishes complexion—as if he could even _be_ more physically perfect than before. “Incredible. Feel my face,” Keith demanded, grabbing Lance by the hand and shoving it onto his cheek. 

Lance giggled and brushed the pads of his fingers over Keith’s immaculate complexion, and the smooth, pristine texture of Keith’s skin. He drew his thumb underneath Keith’s eye gently, like he was just barely grazing the surface of a pool of water. Just to see the ripple of attentiveness on Keith’s face when he realized that Lance wasn’t just observing his newly-perfect skin. 

“You want me to be cheesy right now?” Lance asked, ending his sly whisper with a grin. “Because if so, I’d _totally_ say that it is _so_ incredible. Almost as incredible as you.”

He delightfully watched Keith visibly swallow, and giggled a little when Keith ground his teeth together before shoving Lance away. “I can’t believe I’m dating a sentimental, _idealistic clown_!” Keith seethed jokingly, tackling Lance onto the bed in a roar of laughter.

As they settled, aware that Shay would be coming back soon, Lance laid beside Keith and said, “Well, if it’s any consolation, _every_ realistic person needs and idealist to keep them from sinking.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll try and keep you on the ground. But I don’t know—I may have killer abs but my upper body strength might need some work if I’m gonna by carrying you around,” he muttered, staring up at the ceiling so the Christmas lights danced over the whites of his eyes. 

“I like your killer abs.”

“Stop it. Please. Before I get an ulcer from all this syrupy _mush_ you’re feeding me,” Keith said, sitting up and brushing Lance away. “Why’s Shay taking so long?” he asked aloud, heading for the door.

Lance sat up as Keith pushed the door open a smidge, and glanced out into the hall. It broke the barrier to the background noise of commotion in the distance—probably in another room, or perhaps an entirely different section of the house. Just as Keith stepped out into the hall, someone called out to him, causing him to jump in alarm and whirl around towards the kitchen.

It sounded like Nyma who said, “ _Keith!_ There’s this—there’s a _stray cat_ running around the house right now! Have you seen it?”

“Um, _no_?” he said, a bit apprehensive. “What does this got to do with me?”

“You love cats! Maybe it came by you!”

“You love cats?” Lance repeated, causing Keith to stare at him through the open door and blurt out, “ _That’s_ what you got out of this?”

Nyma marched over and leaned against the open door, eyes wide as she said, “You seriously didn’t know his mom’s, like, obsessed with cats? They have, like, a whole _barn_ full of cats.”

“ _Seriously_?”

Keith looked beyond exasperated as he threw down his arms and said, “The… cats like to sleep with the goats we have. It’s weird and I _don’t_ like to talk about it.”

“I remember a brief mention of goats earlier but never thought it was anything _serious_ ,” Lance confessed. “So you actually own a goat?”

“Shay has pictures, she can show you them later,” Nyma said, reaching over and dragging Lance off the bed by his arm. “Right now, stray cat. Gotta find it. _Hurry_ —you know how allergic Rick is to cats.”

“Oh—shit, you’re right,” Keith hissed, kicking himself into gear and grabbing Lance by the arm. “Let’s go find the damn thing,” he said as he dragged Lance all around the Co-Op with everyone else who happened to be on the Stray Cat Hunt. 

The weirdest thing about it, Lance realized, was that it didn’t seem all that bizarre. It seemed like something that would just _happen_ at the Co-Op. In fact, he wasn’t even surprised to hear that someone had found the stray cat who had taken a liking to them. The cat happened to follow them in through the back door, and just panicked the second anyone got around to touching it. As such, the cat took off on a rampage through the house and left a panicked mess in the living room smelling like rancid cat piss.

Lance and Keith were in the basement searching ever crevice in there when Shay came clomping down the stairs with a heavy sigh. It was nearly eleven at night at that point, and most everyone had given up on the Cat Hunt. “I think I’m gonna hit the hay. We couldn’t find it,” she said, slapping her hands against her legs as she marched over to them. 

“Shit. I mean—everyone who’s allergic to cats checked their rooms, right?” Keith asked, and Shay nodded tiredly.

“Yeah, we got that all sorted out. Until we find the cat, all their rooms have to stay closed at all times. Someone already has itchy eyes from sitting on one of the couches the cat jumped on,” she confessed.

“What if you guys don’t find it?” Lance asked, and both Shay and Keith shrugged. “I can’t imagine you guys have a _protocol_ for a stray cat.”

“Not exactly,” Shay confessed. Keith scratched the back of his head, his annoyance clear on the tension between his brows. Shay sighed before looking up at Lance with slightly brighter eyes. “But hey! We’ll find it eventually. I also had a question for you, Lance.”

“Shoot.”

“Well… I was wondering… if we could all hang out again? Like last time at the pool? And maybe this time I won’t blurt out everyone’s secrets—still sorry, Keith,” she said, smiling guiltily at her friend. Keith waved it off.

Lance raised an eyebrow, which felt weird and slightly liberating after taking off the face mask. “Oh?” he said, grinning. “Why do you ask?”

“I just—I don’t know. It was really fun! And I don’t go to the gym a whole lot, so there’s that…” she confessed, slouching her shoulders. She clasped her hands together, pleading, “And you’re so good at getting the gang together it was a lot of fun. Please?”

Lance couldn’t even look at the knowing look on Keith’s face, because they were both on the same page. “Sure! Yeah, totally. We’ll… do something this weekend, or whatever,” he suggested, and Shay’s face lit up. She yelped in excitement and thanked Lance before running off to get ready for bed. Lance and Keith followed at a slower pace, and as soon as Shay was out of earshot, he said, “So you think she likes Hunk?”

“She’s a sucker for sad circumstances. Her family’s really into fostering dogs and shit. And her trashing Hunk and Hunk, like, reviving himself was basically what sealed the deal,” Keith explained, and laughed a little. “Yeah, so she feels bad, and now she wants to _prove herself_.”

“Ah, yes, a never-ending cycle,” he said, amused. Keith clapped Lance on the back just as they arrived at the end of the hall to his bedroom. 

Keith skidded to a halt in the middle of the hallway, and Lance bumped into his back. “Hey—What’re you—?” he started, but Keith shushed him, flicking his hand up to silence Lance.

“I think… I left my bedroom door open a crack,” Keith whispered, semi-crouched as he approached the door. It was definitely open more than just a crack now.

“You mean you didn’t _close it?_ ” Lance hissed, hushed.

“I don’t know!” Keith whined. “We just sorta bolted over to Shay’s. I thought we’d be back in, like, two minutes.”

“Masks take _more_ than two minutes, excuse _you_ ,” he all but cried out, only to have Keith’s hand slapped over his mouth.

Keith pulled him forward to the door, and together they leaned in, slowly, painfully pushing the door open. Lance’s heart unintentionally started beating hard—what if the cat was in there? Preparing to devour them a _live_.

Keith stepped forward, eyes wide as he scanned across the room for the cat. The blankets were still in a mess from when the two of them laid together, and as they walked in on light feet barely creaking on the floorboards, Keith peered up and over the pile of blankets. Lance did the same, leaning over Keith’s shoulder to see that… _Yes_ , of _course_ the cat found its way in here.

“Shit,” he huffed, staring wide-eyed at Keith as he walked around the bed.

The cat was knocked the fuck out. It was having a nice little siesta on the crevice where Lance once laid, curled up in a perfect, sleek little black bundle of fur. There was a spot of color on it, aside from the gleam where the light caught on its flawless, if not ruffled fur. Lance looked up at Keith, who was looking around the room then, sniffing the air. 

“What are you doing?” Lance asked.

“Checking to see if it pissed in here. But I think we’d know if it did,” he explained quietly. He stepped cautiously towards the door behind Lance and ever so gently closed it without making a sound. “We can’t let it wander around, and… I don’t want to let it back out.”

“Why not?”

“ _Because_ , you dingbat—it’s _winter_. You think every cat wants to live out in an Oregon winter?” Keith retorted in a hiss.

They both bristled at the restrained whine that came from the cat’s mouth. Lance’s shoulders bunched up, preparing to be attacked, but he saw that the cat was merely stretching its haunches and squeaking out a yawn. And then, its wide, amber eyes seemed to glare at them once before closing again. As if _knowing_ that _neither_ of them would be a threat.

For some odd reason, Lance found it offensive.

“Did you see that look it just gave us?” he argued. “It doesn’t like us!”

“Well…” Keith started, but never finished as he walked over to his closet. It wasn’t until Keith started to change his shirt that Lance realized they walked around the _entire_ Co-Op with Keith flaunting around in his boxers. Keith tugged on a loose, gnarled sweater with marks all over it—probably from painting a room, or staining wood—before gingerly kneeling on the bed. He lingered there for a moment, studying the cat before pulling the blanket back. The cat didn’t move, even as Keith crawled under the covers and looked at Lance. “Coast is clear. Come on.”

“Are you serious?” Lance blurted out, pointing to the little shit—the cat, not Keith. “I am _not_ sleeping with a stray cat! What if it has rabies?”

“Then that’s the way we go out. C’mon, it’ll be fun,” Keith said, snuggling down and looking over the blankets at Lance. 

Lance stared at the two of them in exasperation. His Ma would _never_ approve of letting in wild animals. The last time they did that, Julian brought in a too-friendly raccoon that caused a ruckus throughout their kitchen. But then the cat opened those glistening amber eyes—all-knowing and powerful like it had some great secret far beyond their reach… _Shit_ , _it knows_ , Lance squeaked internally.

“Alright, _fine_ ,” he huffed, and crawled onto the bed, putting the cat between them. Lance watched it nervously as it hopped up and crawled to the bottom of the bed. He brought his feet up to avoid it, and tugged the blankets over his torso. The two of them watched the cat stand on the end of the bed, tail flicking. “Looks like it’s about to piss,” Lance whispered, only to be shushed harshly by Keith.

“If anything it’ll spray its scent.”

“That’s even _wooorse_ gross!” he whined, pouting at Keith until his boyfriend eventually turned to glare dully at him. “ _Keith_ , c’mon.”

“Quit being a wuss,” he huffed, reaching behind him and unplugging the Christmas lights. They were pitched into darkness, aside from the light in Keith’s one window illuminating the reflective parts of the stray cat’s eyes. Those iridescent orbs stared at Lance all night from the end of the bed. 

Internally he could hear the cat taunting, “I see you, thinking about Keith in nothing but his boxers. Turns you on, doesn’t it. He’s lying right next to you. I bet it’d be so easy to just _grab him—_ ”

 _Yeah, no, not thinking about that tonight_ , Lance squeaked to himself, hugging the blankets around his flushed cheeks as he closed his eyes and counted to one hundred again and again until he finally fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's block can KISS MY ASS.
> 
>  _Some links my dudes:_  
> [ **Tumblr**](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/) | [**Twitter**](https://twitter.com/geewiIIikers)


	23. How To Lose Your Mind In A Swimming Pool

Lance woke up in the middle of the night to the stray cats paws batting at the window. He sat up a bit with a groan, disoriented by the noise, and by the fact that he wasn’t in his dorm room. Keith was facing away from him, arm flopped off the bed. It was definitely brighter in Keith’s room at night, so Lance could see the monochromatic shadows crossing over the walls and furniture, and catching on the cat pawing at its reflection on the window. He was just thankful that he didn’t wake up to some godawful yowling.

He sat there long enough to realize that he wasn’t going to go back to sleep any time soon. As Lance scrubbed at his eye, he crawled out from under the comforter and climbed silently to the end of the bed. He slid off, aware that the cat had stopped clawing at the window to stare at him as he crossed the floor to his backpack. 

Without his phone, he resorted to his computer to help him pass the time his brain spent in between phases of his sleep schedule. He sat with his back against the wall, his feet over Keith’s legs as he scrolled through Tumblr, eyes half-lidded and growing dimmer. He thought about all his assignments that would be due, were due, and how he _seriously_ needed to check his grades _eventually_.

He went to check his grades, and the comments his professors left in his emails. He silently cheered over the A he was getting in several of his more traditional art classes, including the figure drawing class. He settled for the C+ on his general education credit, since every college student had to comply to the inevitable C-level grade. He made a mental note to message his Ma to let her know that he was doing okay, and that… he needed a new phone. He seriously needed to settle that complication.

Lance went to his inbox, and started to clear out junk mail from clubs he subscribed to at the start of the year, and never ended up joining. In the midst of them all, he saw… an email from lotor.mortem@ndenergy.com. 

  


**From: Lotor Mortem**

**To: Lance McClain**

**Subject: Would Love To See You Again**

Hello Lance,

My sincerest apologies that we left on the wrong foot. I was so incredibly moved by your artistic capabilities—I hardly imagined any normal man could possibly produce such a striking portrait. I hardly seem worthy of it, which is why I’m putting it up for auction this weekend. 

Love to see you there. I’ll attach the location details below.

Love,

Yours.

  


Lance's face went pale before any other part of him responded to the email. As it settled into ever crevice of his tired body, it started to burn in his eyes again, and seep to his skull where all the dread settled and weighed against his brain. He blinked hard and reread the email before the hot liquid in his eyes seeped over his eyelashes and he bit out, “ _Shit_. Shit shit _shit_.”

He covered his mouth, breathing in shakily as he realized this meant his painting— _his painting_ —wouldn’t be _his_. It’d be some… _prize_ Lotor puts up for _who knows how much money_ to be bought off. Lance knew instantly that he was being ridiculous. Lotor _paid_ for the painting, which meant he could do whatever the fuck he wanted with it. He could set it on fire, break it in half, do _whatever he wanted_. 

But Lance certainly couldn’t stop himself from thinking that… whatever profit Lotor made off of it would be passed off as “Oh, yes, _Lotor_ owned it. It’s a portrait of _Lotor_. Isn’t it beautiful?” It wouldn’t be seen or viewed as a _Lance McClain original_. It’d be on stage with all these other nameless paintings for rich, snooty people to get off to like it meant nothing to the artists what _they_ cared.

Lance ran his hands over his face with a groan that turned to a pained whine. That was his _best_ painting—how _dare_ Lotor put it up for sale without his consent?

He was used.

He was played.

He was _devastated_.

“Lance—?” Keith’s tired voice spoke up, the whisper startling Lance. “What’s up? Why are you awake?” 

Lance hastily sniffed and said. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

Keith didn’t even hesitate. “The fuck you are. What’s up?” he said, sitting up and watching as Lance snapped his laptop shut and slid off the bed. “Lance, c’mon.”

“I’m just fucking putting my laptop away. Jesus,” he all but hissed, stuffing his computer away. He went back to the bed scowling, a bitterness about his movements as he climbed up and sunk back down underneath the comforter.

He felt Keith push him by the arm, and tried to push him back. “What is it? What happened?” Keith demanded, shuffling over to grab him by the arm and pull him close. He leant his chin against Lance’s shoulder as Lance blinked his teary eyes up at the ceiling. 

He sniffed and said, “Lotor’s selling my painting.”

“You don’t want him to?”

“ _No_. B-Because I made that _for him_ and he’s a shit person but… not only does he not want it, but he’s selling it for his own profit. It pisses me off.”

“I mean, you think he’ll sell it for more than he paid you for?” Keith asked, frowning.

“That’ll probably be the base price. He’s putting it up for auction. I think he just emailed me that to… get me to go to the damn thing. I bet you twenty bucks he’s not even gonna sell it and it’s all just a trap,” Lance sighed shakily, and resigned himself to that idea. “I’d be okay with that.”

They fell silent as Keith rubbed his hand up and down Lance’s arm, and his breathing went back to normal. _Yes_. Lotor wouldn’t _sell his painting_. It was a portrait of him—why would he sell that to some random stranger? Though, Lance had to admit, it could pass as just… a beautiful piece of art meant to start a conversation. To fill an empty space on a deep burgundy wall among other similar masterpieces. It would add to a rich man or woman’s collection in a sitting room for all their guests to awe at. 

“When’s the auction?” Keith asked quietly, tipping his head against Lance’s. 

“Um… Sunday. In downtown.”

“We’ll go, okay? They can’t sell something _you_ made without _your_ consent—”

“Yeah, but it’s _owned_ by Lotor, not me. I just painted it.”

Keith shoved him forcefully, biting out, “You didn’t _just_ do _anything_ , Lance. I bet that painting is incredible, okay? And if he does sell it, you talk to the person who bought it. They ask for their own Lance McClain original. You walk out of there with a downpayment of two grand and it’ll be _great_. Okay?”

“That’s not how downpayments work…”

“But we’re gonna go, right?” he insisted, propping himself up to look down at Lance. Before Lance could get out his argument, they were interrupted by a slight bounce on the bed, and suddenly the cat was running across the bed at them. Lance cried out in fear, throwing the comforter over his head, only to have his stomach and chest pounced on. 

Keith laughed as the cat paced back down the bed, standing perfectly perched at the very end. Lance peered down at it, before suddenly being attacked by Keith flopping over him and ensnaring him with Keith’s legs twisted around his own. Keith tipped to the side, so they laid facing one another, his back to the wall as he said, “Okay?”

Lance couldn’t really see Keith too well, but he wondered if Keith could see him smile ever os slightly as he answered. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

  


  


“That _bitch!_ ” Pidge hollered, and it echoed off every last wall in the pool, followed by her slapping her hands against the water. “That’s total _bullshit_. Why would Lotor do that?”

“Language, Pidge,” Shiro reprimanded as he combed through the water with his hands, gliding past them on his back. 

“Pardon my French, but _who does that asshole think he is?_ ” she bit out. “That’s _your_ painting!”

“Technically it isn’t _mine_ anymore, but it has my signature and everything on it,” Lance confessed, pouting as he hooked his arms over the ledge, and plopped his chin on top of them. “I spent _seven hours_ …”

He sighed over his arms and tipped his head to the side. Pidge coasted up beside him, only to be sandwiched into the wall by Hunk colliding with her. She shrieked, and Hunk giggled, bouncing off like a balloon into the great abyss of the deeper section of the pool. Shay doggie-paddled over to him, and pushed off his stomach with her feet, twisting around and doing a backflip. Her feet got tangled in the buoyed string cutting between the lanes. 

Hunk helped her detangle herself while he said, “I mean, I know how hard you worked on that painting man, but… do you _really_ want to just do what he wants you to? Clearly he wants you there, possibly just to see the look on your face when someone buys your painting for a grand or something.”

“You’re right. I know he’s probably doing this just to watch me suffer,” Lance confessed. “Doesn’t change the fact that he _has no right_ —! Well, okay, he has some right, but that doesn’t mean it’s _right_ , right?”

Pidge stared at him for a solid minute before saying, “Yeah sure, whatever dude.”

“You’re no help,” he pouted, swinging his lanky legs over to her so he could kick her in the hip. She broke away from the wall with a shriek, and laughed as Allura swam by and ducked underneath her, continuing her laps as if Pidge wasn’t flailing like an unanchored space mechanism floating in zero gravity.

Shiro intercepted them and promptly pulled Pidge back to the ledge where she wouldn’t flounder like a beached whale. So _that_ happened to be the reason why she refused to swim before—it was because she sucked at swimming altogether. She hung around the ledge with Lance as Shiro drifted off, backpedaling over to Allura as they headed towards the other side of the lane.

Pidge twisted back around scowling at Lance. “Don’t do that,” she muttered.

“Sorry.” He wasn’t sorry. 

“Okay, but aside from Lotor being a total _dickwad_ , didn’t you say something about cats? Because I may be allergic to them, but I love them anyways,” she said, and so Lance went on a tirade about the stray cat incident at the Co-Op, and how he was _so_ sure Keith was about to name it and keep it locked in his room for eternity. 

The morning after the cat incident, Keith and Nyma went to buy cat litter and _decent_ food for the little guy. As soon as word got out that there was a cat in the house, Keith’s room became crowded with people wanting to meet it now that it had chilled out. Lance got out of there as soon as he could, considering Keith’s small, closet-sized room was only big enough for a handful of people, if not less.

Nearly an hour and a half later, they all climbed out of the pool since Allura left to get changed—she was meeting friends after this and wanted to give her hair a fighting chance to look half-decent. Pidge climbed out absolutely dripping after Lance dunked her and was saved by Shiro, yet again. Her single-piece swimsuit was topped with a pair of those swim shorts, and her hair sat pasted to her cheeks, forehead, and neck. “I hate you Lance,” she huffed at him as he rolled onto the floor laughing.

Shay climbed out after her and led the way to the women’s locker room. As Lance stood up, Hunk snatched his towel off one of the chairs against the wall and started scrubbing off his face and chest. “I’m surprised swimming is so much fun in the winter. Usually I always thought of it as something you do in the summer,” Hunk confessed.

“That’s just because we’re swimming with _Shaaay_ , huh?” Lance sang, and Hunk whipped the towel at him. Lance shrieked, skittering away and behind Shiro as he emerged from the pool looking like a goddamn Greek god. It wasn’t fair _at all_.

“So what if it is?” Hunk whined, pushing open the men’s locker room door and holding it for them. “I think I’m gonna ask her out after this.”

“Really?” Lance blurted out unintentionally, which caused Shiro to smack him upside the head. As he rubbed the back of his skull, he said, “I mean, that’s cool. _Really_ cool. Wish you luck dude.”

“You think she’ll say no?” Hunk asked, suddenly looking panicked, eyes wide. “I mean, what do I say if she says no?”

“She won’t say no, Hunk,” Shiro sighed, clapping him on the back. Lance laughed a little at the look of relief that washed over Hunk’s face.

Lance changed swiftly, and faster than the rest of them considering his history on the swim team. He shimmied into his winter coat and dried his hair under one of those blow driers attached to the wall. He smelled like chlorine and it was such a calming scent that reminded him of what summer was all about. It wasn’t even summer, but Hunk was right about one thing—he always associated the smell of a chlorinated pool with hot summer days.

He wandered out of the locker room to the hall lined with windows peering into the pool area. He hooked his athletic bag over his shoulders and shook his hair out a little. As he passed the girls’ locker room, he skidded to a halt at the sound of someone’s voice raised—it sounded a little like Allura, and before he could listen in, the door burst open and Pidge came charging out, hair a frizzy wet mess around her glasses. 

“I don’t want to talk about this!” she shouted behind her, and Lance stepped out of the way as Allura cruised after her.

“It’s relevant and I want to know!” Allura demanded, about to grab Pidge by the arm. Lance instinctively and stupidly stepped between them, batting her hand away. Allura scowled at him and said, “You’d know, wouldn’t you? Is Shiro infatuated with Pidge or not?”

“Whoa, where’d this come from?” Lance demanded. “We’ve talked about this and I told you—”

“As if you’d even rat out your roommate. You’re too loyal to him anyways,” she argued.

“And you’re not?” Lance said—again, stupidly—without meaning to. His ears felt like they were on fire as he realized how terrible that call-out was. “I-I mean, I didn’t mean, wait—”

“ _Not_ loyal to him?” Allura seethed. “If anything shouldn’t _I_ be the one worried about that? All he talks about is _physics_ , work, and _Pidge_. Pidge said this, Pidge did that, Pidge, Pidge, _Pidge_!”

“You have to admit, I’m a fascinating gal,” Pidge said, and earned the nastiest glare Lance ever witnessed—aside from the time Keith attacked him whilst drunk. Pidge shrunk a little, shoulders tensing. “Sorry, that was inappropriate.”

“Inappropriate is an understatement,” she snarled, preparing to step around Lance to come at her, but both the men and women’s locker rooms opened at that time. Shay looked like she was in a panic to dress and get the fuck out of the women’s room to break them up.

Shay threw her arms up, stepping between Allura and Lance and shouting, “Whoa! Okay, no need to fight over this.”

“What’s going on?” Shiro demanded, hurrying over. His towel was still in his hand, jacket practically half-on. 

Allura sneered at them and turned away, facing Shiro. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

“She just started verbally _attacking me_ in the locker room,” Pidge blurted out, and the second Allura whipped around to glare at her, she all but squeaked, voice high, “What, bitch, you wanna go? I’ll fight you with my _bare hands—_ ”

“Holy shit,” Lance laughed painfully, trying to keep the smile off his face.

“ _Pidge_ , c’mon,” Shiro whined, exasperated. 

“Can’t you take this seriously?” Allura demanded, smacking him in the arm. Shiro’s face turned red with embarrassment, glancing up at Lance and Pidge. 

“A-Allura, we’ve talked about this,” he insisted, “I’m not—Pidge is just—”

“But you _like her_ , don’t you? _Don’t you!_ ” Allura cried out, turning to hysterics. “I love you and all you ever talk about is Pidge—”

“We’ve only been dating for a few weeks—”

“A _month_. A month, Shiro! And you never even mentioned our month anniversary until I reminded you!” 

“Allura—”

She shoved him in the chest and turned to leave, only to have her eyes fall on Pidge again. She stormed past Lance, pushing him aside. Pidge staggered away, practically pushing herself into the windows of the pool as Allura sneered, “I liked it better when you two weren’t friends.” 

Lance turned his shock on Shiro, who looked like he had every intention of fighting Allura right then and there. He nearly stormed after her, but both Lance and Shay stopped him from chasing Allura down. “Fuck you, Shiro,” Allura snapped as she walked away. “I’m done.”

“Allura— _wait!_ ” Shiro shouted, trying to break through their barricade as his ex stormed through the doors and let them slam shut behind her. 

Lance’s heart was beating so hard against his chest, but he only ever felt the pain of it when Shay said, “Don’t go after her, Shiro. Trust me.” Shiro’s shoulders slumped, his anger falling to devastation as he realized what just happened. 

“Shit,” he said, voice shaking. “ _Shit_. I’m so stupid. I’m so _stupid_.” He slapped his hands over his face, seething as he turned away. He let Lance place his hand over Shiro’s back. He groaned in agonizing annoyance, saying, “Literally what the _fuck_ just happened.”

Every was anxiously quiet, painfully so, because it wasn’t every day any of them saw someone break up in such a loud and dramatic fashion. It wasn’t until Lance heard a sniff from behind him that anyone said anything. Shay murmured, “Pidge…” as a painful whine came out of the small girl’s mouth.

“I-I’m sorry, Shiro,” Pidge cried, eyes glassy as Lance stepped away to get them room. “I f-feel like it’s _my fault—_ ”

“No, no, Pidge,” Shiro started, shaking his head. He looked pale, or sick, Lance couldn’t tell, but either way he combed his hands through his hair with a sigh. “It’s fine. It’s fine.”

“But _Allura—_ ”

“I saw it coming. It’s okay,” he reassured her, though the redness of his eyes said otherwise. 

They all stared at each other, and at Shiro, who was staring at the ground rather than everyone who had their eyes on him. Eventually, Lance cleared his throat. “Let’s… go outside, yeah?” he suggested awkwardly, catching the nervous glances from Hunk and Shay.

Contrary to popular belief, Lance wasn’t the _greatest_ at reassuring people. He clapped Shiro on the back and left it at that as they walked up the stairs to the first floor of the gym. Allura wasn’t there. She wasn’t anywhere in sight, which Lance figured was for the better. He just hoped internally that Allura wouldn’t pull a Keith and come barging drunk into their room at four AM. That would _definitely_ be a ridiculous and unnecessary cherry on the top, so to speak.

“I’ll… get Nyma and Keith,” Shay said as they neared the exit. “They’ll probably wonder where we are.”

“Yeah, I’ll go with,” Hunk squeaked out, scrambling away towards the weights section of the gym with Shay trailing after him. Lance watched them go, silently whining, “Take me with you…!”

They passed the entry counter and went to wait in the lobby. Snow was gathering on the outside of the windowsills, clinging up the glass in frosted bits of white. Shiro sat on the edge of the sill with a sigh, dragging his hands down his face. Pidge walked up to them, brushing her fingers under her eyes as she said, “I… kinda teased her. I shouldn’t have. So it’s my fault.”

“No it’s not. She’s been thinking that for a while now,” Shiro confessed, and squinted ahead of him. “Which is… weird because we haven’t even been dating that long.”

“Well, did you ever _give her_ a reason to be jealous?” Pidge asked as she frowned down at him. 

He shrugged helplessly and said, “I don’t know. That was the first time anyone broke up with me.”

“So you’ve broken up with girls before…?”

“No. Allura was my first girlfriend. Live and learn, I guess?” Shiro laughed, hollowly, and looked up at Lance. 

“No one should be broken up with like that. Especially for a first break up,” he admitted. “I’m sorry, Shiro.”

They fell quiet together, standing by the snowy window bracing to feel their wet hair crystalize in the winter air. They didn’t see the others coming any time soon, and it made Lance antsy. He didn’t want to spend more time than usual out in this lobby, feeling the awkwardness of Shiro’s breakup weighing on them all. 

Eventually, Shiro said, “You know. It’s weird—she said she loved me.”

“What’s weird about that?” Lance asked.

“I just—I feel like it would have felt so mechanical if I said it to her. So maybe it’s for the better. That we aren’t together anymore,” he confessed, staring blankly across the lobby.

“All ‘I love you’s are mechanical, in my opinion,” Pidge muttered with a laugh. “Leaving for school in the morning—‘Love you!’ ‘Love you, too!’—it’s like you’re _supposed_ to say it to your parents. Like you’re obligated to.”

“I did feel obligated,” Shiro confessed quietly. “But you really think all ‘I love you’s are like that?”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Pidge scoffed.

“You’re asking a bias subject,” Lance muttered, and they both laughed. The tension lifted. Lance let out a sigh that felt like the stress of something unnecessarily tedious being expelled with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lotor can KISS my ASS, BITCH.
> 
> My dudes I am just so thrilled by all your comments, and the people who LITERALLY comment every chapter. I aspire to have that level of motivation after I read a fic, and I really hope that in the near future I'll be able to do the same for other authors. Y'all just make my day, I hope you know that. And even if you've left one comment or two I read them all and I'm just so thrilled to hear that you guys are liking this fic so far. GOSH.
> 
> There's probably, like, 3 chapters left, I don't really know. 
> 
> **Also, side note,** I'm working planning my next big fic, and I need to know **1) what are your favorite _creative swear words_** and 2) what do you want to see from me.  
>   
>  _Some links my dudes:_  
> [ **Tumblr**](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/) | [**Twitter**](https://twitter.com/geewiIIikers)


	24. The Boys Are Over There, Being Total Badasses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to crush stereotypes and antagonists with soft, sad boys having existential crises about asexuality, blowjobs, and breakups (not in that order), followed by Dildos Disguised As Tampons Made By The Patriarchy: A Pidge/Geewillikers memoir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I listened to this song on repeat whilst writing this](https://youtu.be/4G6QDNC4jPs?t=5s)

“So… I hear you have a stray cat locked in your room?” Pidge commented as they walked out of the gym as a group. Their feet left dusted streaks through the snow, and Lance could feel it slowly freezing every last one of his toes.

“Yeah, I sent you a picture,” Keith laughed, and Lance through down his arms in exasperation. “What?”

“You _still_ haven’t added me on Snapchat, and you won’t accept my friend request on Facebook,” he whined, all while Pidge snickered at him from around Keith. Lance scowled at her and said, “You’re just a little home-wrecker _aren’t you_?”

Pidge tugged down her eyelid with her finger and stuck her tongue out at him, only to be swatted back into position by Shay. “All right, that’s enough. We aren’t talking about that right now,” Shay chided them, glaring at Lance. They were all too aware that Shiro walked in front of them a ways away, highlighted around the edges by the lamp posts dotting the streets, and catching snow in flecks of orange light against his beanie. 

Something about Shiro being broken up with felt… hollow to Lance. He felt like this rigid shell represented something of just… a guy who was far more innocent than Lance gave him credit for. There was nothing particularly grand about their breakup, and perhaps that was what made Lance think that relationships _were_ fickle things and it didn’t matter whether your attachment to a partner lasted one month or two-hundred seven months.

He wondered if Shiro’s breakup would have felt more significant than this had he been dating Allura for two-hundred seven months. He wondered if his _own_ breakup would feel so hollow like this. Shouldn’t there be some empathetic pain on his part? How would Shiro mourn this? Would he watch _27 Dresses_ like Lance always did after breakups?

Keith was showing Hunk pictures of the cat while Lance walked forward, jogging a little to catch up with Shiro. They walked in silence together for a while. Their feet scrunched in tune with Hunk’s high-pitched squealing over the nameless cat.

“I feel like…” Shiro started, voice stuffy. He cleared his throat a little. “I feel like I’m broken up over something so idiotic. You know? I have _midterms_ to worry about. Not some relationship that probably wouldn’t have lasted all that long to begin with. And then, logically, my brain is beating me up for wasting this month and a half on a girl who wouldn’t even _be there_ in the long run. You know what I mean?”

Lance thought about Keith and how he assumed that Keith would never even consider going on a date with Lance. He just assumed that it would never pan out, but that was before he realized that squishes felt like long-term commitments with people Keith appreciated enough to keep close. An attachment like that would extend far beyond the bargain of sexual attraction that may or may not fade. “If you think like that you’ll never find anyone to stick out in the long run. You gotta take chances like that sometimes,” Lance told him.

“Yeah, well, what do you think’s gonna happen to you and Keith then?” he asked, softly, since if they talked loud enough the others would be able to hear. But for now, it was just the two of them.

“What do you mean?” he said.

“Well… every relationship either works out, or doesn’t. You break up, or you don’t. What do you think’s gonna happen?” Shiro said.

Lance spent far too much time letting this question swarm the interior of his skull. Late nights tended to do that to him, and he’d tell himself that those times he felt guilty for having such “disgusting” thoughts about Keith, knowing that his boyfriend would never approve. His boyfriend would never fantasize about him like that, and that just seemed… okay to Lance. He didn’t mind that so much as he did the outcome of their relationship. In the long run.

“Well… if Keith gets sick of me, I… hope that we’d be able to stay friends. And I could still be his squish. And I’d go off and… date other people and Keith would just do whatever Keith does without me,” he confessed. “Which… now that I think about it, wouldn’t be all that different from what he does now. He doesn’t seem to depend on anyone to maintain his happiness.”

Shiro snorted and muttered, “Wouldn’t that be the dream.”

 _Yeah, that sounds pretty good_ , Lance admitted to himself, more than once. _If only I didn’t feel like some part of my happiness was tethered to Keith_. If that string ever snapped, Lance wasn’t sure _what_ part of him would break completely. He hated to admit that he depended on Keith enough to wish that even after their possible breakup scenario, he’d still want Keith to be a part of his life. But he could think about that another time.

  


  


Midterms were going on, and everyone was panicking. They were wrapping up figure drawing, and Lance merely had to spray his charcoals before turning them in on Monday. He cleaned up the shnibbles that gathered on the edges of sketches he tore out of his sketchbook, and spent _far_ too long in the studio putting together the portfolio of crap he made over the past three weeks. It was such a dull, boring task to be bothered with on a Sunday, and on top of it, he was dreading seeing Keith again.

Seeing Keith meant seeing Nyma’s moped. Which meant a cold, bitter drive through Portland. To an unknown building where snobby rich guys would bid on a nude portrait of Lotor. 

God. That sounded like a complete and utter shitshow that Lance wanted no part of.

So he spent his morning forcefully ripping pages out of his sketchbook and picking ones suitable to be graded. There were others in the studio cleaning up their final pieces of Luxia that looked _far_ better than any of their beginnings. It meant that a lot of people ended up scrapping their sketches of Keith, just simply because he was the first model and the drawings back then weren’t their best. Many of Lance’s drawings passed with flying colors when it came to those featuring Keith, so his portfolio consisted mostly of Keith and Luxia. 

That might have been due to bias on his part, and his distaste for Lotor now.

Lance sighed dreadfully as he recalled the obvious lack of sleep reflecting under his eyes. He could feel it sinking in there, as if preparing to drill empty holes where his eyes were supposed to be, focusing on work instead of drifting off time and time again. If he started to think about Lotor now, he’d never get anything done. The last thing he wanted to do was drift off into an unresponsive daze, drawing the first thing that came to mind—Keith, or Lotor. 

He was in the midst of slotting his portfolio into his bag when someone knocked on his desk. “Hey, you there or is this just an imitation of you? Because if so, I’m impressed by the resemblance,” his boyfriend said, smiling as he leaned over Lance’s desk. 

Lance watched Keith glance around the room and sigh, “God. I wish I could spend every day in Altea.”

“Pff, yeah, and I wish every day I could sit in that greenhouse. It’s so warm and cozy. I’d get to chill with all my succulents.”

“Yeah… hey, but I bet we could pot your succs up soon so you can keep them in your dorm,” he confessed and when Lance snorted, he said, “What?”

It took a moment for Lance to recover. “ _Please_ don’t say that again.”

“What? Succs?”

“Keith, c’mon.”

“What, it’s just short for succulents. What’s wrong with it?” 

“You’re _way_ too ace for this. C’mon, you gotta know how perverted that sounds in my head right now,” Lance said, and Keith gave an innocent shrug.

“Just means that you really want whatever perverted form of ‘succ’ you’re thinking of,” he replied, pushing away from the desk to wander around towards Lance. “Which, by the way, not giving to you. Because that’s incredibly disgusting and I don’t see why people are okay with the idea of _blowjobs_ and are disgusted by the idea of sharing straws or mixing their food together. Like, if you’re willing to put a dick in your mouth, you literally have nothing to lose. You might as well just eat your food off the floor if you’re hygienically okay with eating dick.”

By that point, some of the students in the room started looking at them oddly, and Lance went bright red. “Okay, we are _not_ talking about this right now.”

“But admit that you’re okay with eating dick and not okay with eating your food off the ground.”

“Well, I mean, I’m sure there’s more germs on the floor than there are—”

“So you’re fine swallowing the thing I piss with?”

“ _Keith!_ ”

“It’s an honest question!”

Lance ran his hands through his hair, a panicked look on his face. How was he supposed to respond to that when he frequently thought about Keith’s dick? The fact of the matter was this: he had _drawn evidence_ of Keith’s penis, and the fact that it was a decent-looking penis was proof of Lance’s ultimate hope to one day lick it. 

“I hope you realize…” Keith started, suddenly grinning like a goddamn manic hyena, “that I’m just teasing you. Because I love seeing you get all flustered.”

Lance opened and closed his mouth for a solid minute. “You’re such a dick.”

The second Keith let out that breathy, demonic laugh, Lance’s blood chilled in his veins. By that point, Keith was now standing beside him, and barely had to move to lean in and whisper, “And you want to swallow me, don’t you?”

Lance _knew_ Keith just wanted the satisfaction of seeing Lance squeak, turn red, and insist, “N-No! No I don’t!” He was sure that was _exactly_ what Keith was waiting for, so he forced himself to school his expression, despite the obvious tension in his neck and humming in his chest as he turned to Keith, eyes half-lidded.

“You’re in _dangerous_ territory right now,” he all but purred, and snickered at the suddenly pale look on Keith’s face. Lance pinched him in the side and said, “I wouldn’t do that unless you begged for it.”

“I-I wouldn’t!”

“I know. And that’s the sad part,” Lance pouted, turning his puppy-eyes back to his work. 

That just got Keith seething, “You little shit!” all while Lance giggled to himself and mentally high-fived himself for being so smooth. It wasn’t every day he was capable of teasing Keith and getting away with it.

Keith sat in a flustered mess at Lance’s desk while he packed away his things. He was still scowling as they walked out of the studio together while Lance said his goodbyes to his classmates. They trekked down the stairs in silence as he tugged on his gloves and zipped up his jacket. At the ground level, he asked, “What’re you thinking about?”

“I’m just annoyed that you played me like that. How dare,” Keith huffed, tugging his scarf up over his lips as he glared at Lance. “I’ll get you back.”

“Please don’t. Sexual frustration is worse than general frustration,” he pleaded. “And I feel bad every time I think about it.”

“About what?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Please tell me in vivid detail what pornographic situation you put me in because I would like to know. Please tell me it’s not doggie style. You don’t seem like the kinda guy who’s into that.”

“ _Keith!_ C’mon, I’m trying not to think about it and—Oh, God, you just put the image in my head,” Lance groaned, slapping his hands over his face while Keith laughed maniacally. He ran off in a victorious pursuit of the brick ledges on the sides of the sidewalk, and climbed them to avoid Lance’s sexually frustrated fury. 

It took them longer than necessary to get to Nyma’s moped, and they maneuvered around to accommodate the portfolio bag through Arnette’s narrow streets and, at one point, onto a brick walkway simply because Keith wanted to save time. Evidently, Keith was thorough with his research and found that the art auction opened with free wine and cute hors d’oeuvres, which meant they had a little under twenty minutes to make it for all of the perks. They practically skidded into the Kingsley parking lot with Lance flying off the back seat so he could skid over the ice-slick sidewalks up to the front door. He ran as fast as humanly possible whilst weighed down by art supplies and his backpack full of shit. 

Shiro was startled by Lance bursting in to drop off his shit and change into something more decent for the occasion. He threw on a navy button up and slacks, tucked in the shirt, fixed the collar, and kicked out his shoes for Shiro to see.

“How do I look?”

“Uh, good…?”

“‘Kay thanks I’m leaving. Gotta get to the auction on time,” Lance said, snatching his wallet and student ID before darting out of the room and down the hall. He stuffed his gloves on, wrapped his scarf up around his mouth and nose, and tugged his hat over his ears so by the time he was on the back of Nyma’s vespa, the wind hardly hurt.

They shifted expertly between narrow side-streets, and the main roads that cruised down block after block of identical brick buildings, and overhangs sheltering people in baggy black jackets, hats, scarves, layers of sweatshirts. It wasn’t a surprise that there were a lot of homeless people in Portland, and as they tilted around a corner, they passed by one of their cardboard signs written on in Sharpie. 

“Hey Keith?” Lance asked as the vespa slowed in traffic. They stopped behind a taxi waiting at a red light.

“What?” Keith raised his voice for Lance to hear, turning his head to the side. 

“I was just thinking. You said you used to live in Chicago?” Keith shrugged. “But Shay said your parents live in northern California.”

The light turned green again, and they coasted forward as Keith answered, “Grandparents live in Chicago. I spend my summers there.”

“Are there a lot of homeless people in Chicago too?” he asked, and Keith answered with a shrug. Lance tipped his head forward to rest on Keith’s shoulder, and he squinted against the wind as they pulled into one of the parking garages near the building. They split the cost of parking, and snuck into the first open spot they could find. As soon as the engine cut out, the echoing around the parking structure faded, and left them in a bubble that seemed all too quiet for voices.

And yet, they could hear voices echoing around as Lance hopped off the vespa and heard his boots clap against the concrete. “You hear that?” he asked Keith, who instantly shushed him, staring intently at his phone before pushing off Nyma’s moped.

Keith walked out to the edges of the cars, cupped his hands over his mouth, and yelled, “ _We’re over here!_ ”

Distantly, Lance heard an excited, “ _Ooh! That’s the boys over there!_ ”

“You asked _Coran_ to come?” Lance hissed, though he smiled as Keith winked at him as he corrected, “Not _just_ Coran. Luxia’s coming too.”

As soon as Keith said it, Lance started to catch the faint sound of Luxia harmonizing with Coran’s jazzy voice singing down the ramp. They came trotting between the beams, all while Coran performed elaborate dance-steps, swinging his arms like he was in a musical. Luxia twirled in her long dress, twisting around and singing off-tune before proclaiming, “I used to be in choir back in the day!”

“I’m sure you were,” Keith laughed, hands on his hips as he walked up to them. Luxia kissed him on the cheek and hurried over to Lance, her long fingers topped with sharp red nails that could probably cut through his cheeks in an instant. Either way, she grabbed hold of his face and gave him a wet smack on the forehead.

“Lance! Dear! We heard what happened,” she cried out, clasping a hand to her heart. She had on what looked like an expensive fur coat that Keith blatantly glared at, up until the point where Luxia looked at him—then he was all smiles, pretending like he wasn’t offended by the fox fur. “We’ll talk to Lotor and try to get him to remove the painting. Don’t you worry.”

“Thanks, but I doubt he will,” Lance confessed nervously. “You don’t have to talk to him.”

“Nonsense!” Coran all but shouted, startling Lance with a hard hand on the shoulder. “We’ll set ‘im straight. I’m good at that sort of thing.”

“I’m not sure if heteronormativity will solve our problems,” Keith said, and Lance was so startled by the joke that he wasn’t entirely sure that it _was_ meant to be a joke. Eventually, though, Luxia burst into loud, obnoxious laughter as she enveloped Keith in a hug.

“I miss your one-liners! They always get me. C’mon, let’s go,” she said, reaching over to grab Lance and yank him to her side. For a woman of her age, Lance was surprised by her strength, but perhaps that had something to do with the death-grip on his arm, and her sharp nails. Her smile said it all: She was ready to shed blood if necessary for the sake of making Lotor pay.

  


  


Pidge was, more or less, indifferent about a lot of things. She was indifferent about things other people might find “important” or “relevant” to the progression of life for a young woman like herself. Did she care about whether or not her genetic code was passed on? Well, not especially. At least not until she could formulate a feasible contraption to contain a copy of her genome for future purposes… but aside from that! The last thing she wanted was her human genome being enclosed within an awful screaming mess of cells stemming from her uterus wall…

“What are you thinking about?” 

She blinked her bleary eyes, glancing over at the sad clutter lounging in her beanbag. She sat against the opposite wall, legs splayed to the side, laptop open but slowly timing out on the ground. Shiro stared at her from around the blanket he brought from his own room. Pidge was almost certain it was Lance’s.

“Um… thinking about how children are a fucking scam,” she confessed.

“That is… a cold thought. Bitter, even.”

“I’m a bitter person. Can’t complain,” she said, sighing as she dragged her finger over the trackpad of her computer. She logged back in, and looked up at Shiro with tired eyes. “What are you thinking about? I mean, that’s why you asked me, right? So I’d be obligated to ask the same…?”

Shiro stared at her blankly before saying, “Since when did _you_ figure out how conversations worked.”

“I’ve _always_ known how conversations work. I talk to Keith about this all the time. Like, how the rules of socializing make everyone come off as mundane and excessively _nice_ when we _aren’t_. You know what I mean? Like, if I had no manners and no ability to comprehend social cues—AKA analyze social situations—you would ask me how my day was, and I’d tell you, and never ask the same. You see?”

“But that just suggests that I asked simply because I was a narcissist and didn’t _actually_ want to hear about what you were thinking when I was actually genuinely interested. You looked like you were spacing hardcore,” he said, suddenly provoked by the implication that Shiro was anything but a civil young gentleman. 

“Regardless of whether or not you did… that’s how analyzing a conversation works,” she replied, raising her eyebrows at him, daring him to question it. He settled to give up the argument in favor of glaring at the door. She looked over her shoulder and around the corner, seeing that there was nothing particularly interesting about the door to grab her attention like it had Shiro. “But seriously—what are you thinking about?”

“Allura,” he confessed. “I feel like… everything we did was just so _sentimental_ in the long run.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Like… romantic. And not in our usual sense of romance,” he confessed. “Idealistic. Impractical. Why would we spend over twenty dollars to see a movie every weekend. Why would we hold hands when it was fucking _freezing outside_. We were just sacrificing our own restored heat to hold some… limbs protruding from the ends of our forearms.”

“Hand-holding in the winter is such a weird concept,” Pidge agreed.

“Yeah. Do you think it’s weird that I’m suddenly just realizing it now?” he asked.

She considered the notion, and shook her head. They fell into silence for a moment, though Pidge knew _exactly_ what conclusion Shiro was coming to. It didn’t change the fact that she _knew_ what he was like, dating Allura. She was there to see him _happy_. _Genuinely_ happy to kiss and share his heat with Allura because that was what romantics did. They were the sort of people who seemed idealistic. Impractical. Because love wasn’t feasible by any means.

So, eventually he did ask. “Does that mean I’m aromantic like you?” he asked.

She had her answer at the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t want to make it seem like she’d thought about this far too often, and fumed over it time and time again. So she hummed as if she was thinking before ever getting around to answering his question.

“No. You’re just bitter about your breakup and want to justify not being with someone. And it makes sense considering how concrete your mind works because as soon as you have your fun with an abstract concept like _romance_ … you go and overanalyze it and suddenly you think ‘Oh, that wasn’t as normal as it should have been. Let me just add _science to this_.’ You feel?” she said.

He seemed disappointed by the answer, but nodded nonetheless. She felt… _sorry_ for him. Because he’d go on, probably fall in love with a romantic or sexual relationship again, and get his heart broken. And it wasn’t like _Pidge_ was immune to heartbreak at all, and she hated to see people like Shiro experience it once, knowing that it might happen again and again over something she found to be so capricious.

Shiro rubbed a hand over his reddened eyes and reached down to pick up his water bottle. He chugged a bit of it, and Pidge analyzed him long enough over these few hours to know that he drank water excessively to avoid crying in front of her. 

“It must be nice,” he commented. “Not having to worry about being hurt emotionally like this.”

“Well, you being a bastard earlier kinda hurt my feelings. So I’m not invincible when it comes to emotional pain. I’m not a robot, Shiro,” she laughed, and he laughed too. She was glad their earlier spat wasn’t a tense subject between them anymore. 

He looked away from her, eyes glassy as he confessed, “I… kinda hoped that we’d have something in common. Aside from, like, our usual hobbies.”

“But at least _now_ you sorta know what it feels like,” she said. “And I know that’s a dark way of putting your breakup, and it’s not exactly a healthy way to look at romance by any means, but… it’s how I think about it for a small part of it. You know?”

Shiro smiled painfully at her, fingers playing with the cap of his water bottle. He nodded uncertainly, and looked hurt as he said, “Yeah, I think so. Thanks Pidge.”

“Any time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You don't understand how hard I was laughing while writing the scene where Keith's talking about blowjobs. And honestly, I don't think I'll get Pidge to say this, but in addition to things I, as an asexual, find disgusting, is the entire concept of tampons. Tampons sound like something invented by the patriarchy (and after a brief research, I can confirm that the modern version of a tampon was invented by [Earle Haas](https://www.sccs.swarthmore.edu/users/01/sarahk/hers/school/tampon.html)). 
> 
> Pidge: "I can't imagine anyone would want to have something shoved in their vagina longer than necessary."  
> Shay: "It is necessary! You think I'm gonna wear a diaper?"  
> Pidge: "WOULD YOU WANT TO KEEP A DILDO SHOVED IN YOUR HOO HAH AND KEPT THERE FOR THE ENTIRE DAY—"  
> Nyma, covering Keith's ears: "Maybe some people DO."  
> Keith: "WHAT. ARE WE TALKING ABOUT DILDOS because I rooted around in Lance's things—"  
> LaNCE: "AHAHAHAHA CHANGING THE SUBJECT HAS ANyone tried Shay's banana bread it's astounding" *begins stuffing an entire loaf into his mouth*  
> Keith: "Do you not have a gag reflex—" *Lance, choking* "—Nevermind there it is."  
> Pidge: *already halfway to Canada*
> 
>  _Some links my dudes:_  
> [ **Tumblr**](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/) | [**Twitter**](https://twitter.com/geewiIIikers)


	25. Bidding Paddle Number 69 Feat. Half-Assed Lotor Showdown

The first thing Lance did was _locate the enemy_ the second they walked into the building. 

He was fuming before he even realized it. There were so many fancy people in their fancy tuxedos looking like their shit didn’t stink and they had a check prepared at that very second to pay off Lance’s student loans. He spent so long rooting around between groups of people at those fancy tall tables, that by the time Keith ever caught up to him, nearly thirty minutes had gone by with no progress on finding Lotor. 

“Lance, can you calm down for a second?” Keith hissed, collecting a fistful of Lance’s shirt and dragging him across the room. “People are starting to think you’re being a creep and that you walked in uninvited.”

“Uh, isn’t that exactly what happened?” he said, squinting at his boyfriend. “Well, aside from the ‘creep’ part.”

Keith looked away from Lance, and it became evident that everything about this setting was _clearly_ not sitting right with Keith. Lance hadn’t noticed it until Keith’s eyes drifted over the scene, all while he was straightening the front of his freshly-ironed suit muttering, “Yeah, well… you’re making _me_ nervous because you hardly seem nervous about this.”

“Why should we be?” Lance asked, alarmed by the idea. Sure, he wasn’t exactly familiar with the setting, but that was the sort of atmosphere he thrived in. No one had any expectations for him aside from quick judgements that wouldn’t matter in the long run. He didn’t have a whole lot of faith in Keith’s idea that _anyone_ would want to commission him after the painting was sold, or that the painting sold at all…

Okay, maybe _that_ was a reason to be nervous. 

But wasn’t that what Lance wanted? He didn’t want his painting sold. _He didn’t want to sell it_. Maybe that was where he fell short in the scheme of things—he couldn’t let go of shit, not even a fucking portrait of Lotor in the nude draped in elegant silk sheets.

“Nothing. It’s fine. I just hate stuffy people,” Keith confessed. 

“Kind of explains why you’re the complete opposite of stuffy. You don’t care enough about what other people think of you,” he commented under his breath as he turned to face the room. Their shoulders touched as they watched the room, and searched for Coran and Luxia. They were already managing to mingle, and the fact that they could find those two so easily told Lance that if Lotor was there, he’d be noticeable. Lotor wouldn’t be hiding.

The atrium in which they all mingled in was furnished with tall, vaulted ceilings paired with pure black marble columns to match the tiled floors. There was something naturally _dark_ about the atmosphere, and yet because of it, the skylights managed to highlight the most important parts of the room—the paintings on the wall that weren’t up for sale.

There was a wine bar staged in the back, with workers weaving between the tables to offer glasses to the attendees. They hadn’t yet approached the two of them, considering they happened to be the youngest people there. Slowly, it started to dawn on Lance why Keith was so hesitant to even make conversation with these people. It was starting to feel like they shouldn’t have come here in the first place. Even in his best shirt and slacks, Lance still looked like a struggling college student who slept too little, showered probably less than he should have, and was desperately trying to find a reason to keep himself on his feet with the prospect of free food across the room. 

Lance leaned towards Keith’s ear and asked, “You think all these snooty old guys would care if I put my arm around you?” 

“Probably. But then again we’re at an _art auction_. I can’t imagine anyone who buys Lotor’s portrait is entirely straight,” Keith confessed, laughing as Lance slipped hand over his lower back. He settled his hand at Keith’s opposite hip as they watched Coran stride across the room to reach them. 

“ _Boys_ , I believe we have our bidding number,” he announced, striking up a slim white paddle with the number _69_ on it.

Lance’s eyes went wide as he stammered, “Wh-Why’d you get—?”

“Shit, my favorite number,” Keith said, snatching the paddle and whipping it around in a circle. “Thanks Coran.”

“Any time, son,” the man said, his mustache curling around his smile as Lance still stood there, floundering for an answer. Coran reached out and tipped Lance’s jaw back up. “You’ll catch flies. What’s the problem?”

“Y-You aren’t planning… on _buying the painting_ , are you? Please tell me you’re just looking for a cool painting to put up in the Co-Op,” Lance begged, but both Coran and Keith shrugged. It answered all other questions. “I’m guessing Luxia’s in on this, too.”

“She’s gonna help pitch in. I asked my mom to sign off on a little bit of my savings for me to use,” Keith explained, gesturing to Coran with the _69_ paddle. “He’s pitching in a couple hundred. Just in case.”

“I was just going to gamble it all anyways,” he confessed shamelessly, winking at Lance before his eyes spotted a waiter walking by with a silver-lined tray of alcohol. “Pardon _me_ ,” he purred, stepping away and chasing after the flute glasses. Keith and Lance followed after him, despite how dizzy the idea made Lance. Why did it feel like he was smiling and scowling simultaneously? 

Keith, Coran, and Luxia hadn’t even _seen_ the painting—why would they pitch in _hundreds of dollars_ for it?

They started to head for the far side of the room that was pitched into the darkness of a velvet black curtain. Lance stared up at the halfway point of the walls, where the curtain stopped and caught the light of the skylights over its metal pole. Keith followed his gaze skyward before saying, “I figured… I have nothing to lose by asking my mom. And if she said no, she said no. I’m surprised she agreed.”

“To give you money for this?”

“Yeah. She’ll probably see where it goes and piss herself,” he laughed, rubbing a hand over his exposed forehead. He had his hair slicked back into a half-bun, the remainder of his black hair swept against his neck. “I hope you don’t mind?”

“Are you kidding? This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever _done_ for me,” Lance admitted. “But I don’t want you guys to waste money on this. I just… sort of want to see what happens. So don’t fucking raise the paddle if you don’t want to, okay?”

Keith laughed and tipped his head to bump Lance’s shoulder. “Yeah, sounds good. I’m kind of excited.”

“Really? Why?” Lance said.

“Well—” and he would have finished, had one of the hosts not called everyone’s attention by starting a melody of clinking glasses. Everyone joined in—Coran included, after he retrieved his flute glass, anyways—and soon the hall faded out of the high-pitched bells made of silverware against glass. 

Everyone’s eyes were turned towards the curtain as it pulled aside to reveal the remainder of the auction room. There stood the stage, the hosts and their assistants, all backed by art sheltered under black sheets. There had to be thirty pieces up there behind the stage, and suddenly Lance realized this wouldn’t just be an Anxiety Fest waiting for his portrait to come up—he’d get to see other artists’ works to go alongside his. 

People started to filter between the isles and rows of seats. Keith ran off to get Luxia and Coran, telling Lance to find them a spot. He walked towards the outskirts of the seats, and figured his best bet was to stay away from all the action. People weren’t expecting him to bid—he was just there as a spectator for all they knew. Lance claimed one of the farther seats in the back, but before he could shimmy into the row, he caught sight of one of the attendants striding towards him from the front. 

He’d recognize that white hair anywhere.

“So you made it,” Lotor said, his light smile addressing him with some form of fondness Lance wasn’t familiar with. 

“Uh, yeah,” he blurted out, unsure whether or not the tension in his brow was accurately portraying the hostility he felt churning in his chest. Seeing Lotor’s carefree smile was _infuriating_. How could he just _do that_? 

“While I’d love to stand and chat, I have people to mingle with. Hope you don’t mind that I leave you now—I’ll be back at the end of the auction,” he said, drifting all too close to Lance just to breathe it into his ear.

Lotor jerked away, the abruptness throwing Lance off until he realized Keith had shoved Lotor away from him. He stood between them, seething under his breath, “You absolute piece of shit. What do you want from us.”

“I want nothing to do with you. Is that so hard to believe,” Lotor said to him, eyes flickering over to where Coran and Luxia were marching over. “Hello again! I wasn’t expecting you two.”

“You’re a piece of work, aren’t you?” Luxia snapped. “I imagine you get off making boys half a decade younger than you miserable. Is that it?”

“ _Luxia_ ,” Lotor laughed, feigning astonishment. “What makes you say that? You’ve always been so crude.”

“I’ll show you crude,” she snarled, bunching up the sleeves of her dress only to be held back by Coran.

“As much as I’d love to chat with you all… I have to get back to work,” Lotor said, waving farewell to them on his way out of their group. Luxia tried to block him off unsuccessfully, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet in preparation for a brawl.

Lance watched the back of Lotor’s head retreat among the people moving closer to the front of the auction hall. He was still fuming internally at the sight of Lotor. He wished he had some cunning remark to spit at the man. He wasn’t he wasn’t such a _pushover_ —

“God I want to punch him,” Keith muttered under his breath. 

“A whole lotta good that’ll do,” Coran snorted, tapping Keith on the shoulder. “C’mon, grab a seat. We’ll deal with Lotor later.”

While Lance was internally fuming and burning up the inside of his esophagus—it as probably just acid reflux due to the stress of the past few days—, Keith was showing every aspect of it without actually punching something. At some point Lance could actually _feel_ the heat radiating off of him from where their shoulders touched. Keith had his hands clenched furiously on his lap, twisted together with white knuckles. 

Lance tapped one of his hands and asked, “What’s the matter?”

“I can’t believe that fucker _kissed you_. I’m still pissed about it,” Keith snarled out through clenched teeth, looking behind him as if preparing shoot lasers out of his eyes if he saw Lotor standing there. 

“You never said you were pissed about it.”

“Yeah, well I _am_ , okay?” he said, turning back around and only catching Lance’s startled stare briefly. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“You’re cute though. Being all angry like that.”

“Am _not_ ,” Keith bit out. 

Coran and Luxia were in their own little world talking about some television show they were both watching, so they weren’t exactly paying attention when Lance said, “Well… you remember what I said. You can kiss me whenever you want I don’t— _mm!_ ” 

Keith crushed his lips into Lance’s, and the angle was wrong and it wasn’t soft at all, but it was _definitely_ a kiss that Lance remembered. They stayed there for a solid two seconds before Lance tipped forward and pressed his lips against Keith’s again, the movement gentle and encouraging. Keith barely reacted except for his pink cheeks, red ears, and nervous eyes looking anywhere _but_ Lance after they parted. “Sorry,” he muttered, looking away. 

_That was so hot_ , Lance all but cried internally, smiling ridiculously wide as he covered his mouth with his hand. 

The auction started not long after that—not that Lance was paying attention. He was still thinking about that _fucking hot kiss holy shit_. They may have been surrounded by old, snooty rich guys but Lance just didn’t even give two flying fucks. It was like his brain just detached itself from the world and was rolled through fluffy romantic red powder and sprinkled with everything to do with _Keith_ and Keith _kissing him_. He sunk into his chair into a fire hydrant-red mess, smiling idiotically to himself.

The second they skipped over introductions and got to the bidding, Lance jumped back into the world and straightened up, listening to the auctioneer chant and call out numbers. There was a small painting up front, positioned on a display easel, and someone’s paddle went up across the room. It started a snowball effect—another number went up before the end of the call, followed by another, and another, until it was sold for four-hundred-something that Lance could never afford.

Given the price of the first, people who had more money than they could fit in their pockets started to get ballsy. They started with what Lance realized were the “mediocre of the bunch”—paintings and drawings that were likely to sell for less. Those flew faster than Lance thought possible because he only ever thought of paintings being admired on gallery walls for five seconds before the viewers walked off and never considered buying the pieces. But _this_ was insanity to him. It was exhilarating, and these people were buying paintings they could only see from afar—aside from the projector screen displaying massive, high-resolution photographs overhead. 

Coran was just as intrigued as Lance was, and he was certain Luxia would be too had she not already mentioned offhandedly, “Oh I’ve been to _dozens_ of these—it’s nothing new. Usually the artists are long-dead and were never famed so they sell for very little.” 

Coran and Lance leant forward in their seats, watching painting after painting go by as they reached final bids ranging over a grand. Lance dragged his hands down the sides of his face as he uttered, “I can’t believe this is how people buy paintings. I can’t believe it.”

“Yours hasn’t showed up yet. Are you worried?” Keith asked.

“What? No—this is so exciting!”

At some point Luxia walked off and nabbed a brochure that dealt with the auction and the pieces exhibited in it. It wasn’t extensive by any means, and not _nearly_ everything was mentioned in it—the last few pieces were highlighted and the artists were given little blurbs. Lance wasn’t in there, nor was Lotor, but the donors were mentioned in a list on the back—and that was where Lotor’s name was brought up.

 _So my piece_ is _here today_ , he realized. Why else would Lotor’s name be there if not to _actually_ sell Lance’s painting? 

“—And here we have an acrylic twenty-four by thirty-six portrait painted on a stretched linen canvas—”

“Holy shit— _holy shit you painted that?_ ” Keith hissed—loud enough for the people in front of them to turn around and look. 

Coran and Luxia looked instantly at Lance, eyes wider than Lance imagined a painting could be the cause of. He shrunk in his seat as one of the strangers in front of him asked, “How old are you?”

“Eighteen—?”

“And that’s your painting?”

The numbers around them started flying up in a blur. Lance sat, struck by the realization that Keith was bidding at every shift of the prices that he could sneak in on. Lance felt numb, his brain going wild at the dizzying motion of people _bidding_ for _him_. The number hardly even started at a grand, and was already up beyond two—

The people around them didn’t necessarily care what the content was aside from the fact that it was expertly painted by a _eighteen-year-old_ sitting behind them. Coran let Lance cling onto his hand as the numbers jumped to three-thousand. 

He wondered how many people recognized Lotor in the painting. He wondered how many of them were purposefully bidding for the painting in hopes of having a nude portrait of Lotor hanging in their fancy, elaborate sitting room. He tried to picture a canvas that size in the Co-Op—

“Wait, Keith—” Lance said, grabbing Keith’s arm and yanking it down from the air. 

“What? Someone’s gonna take it—”

“I don’t care,” he insisted, forcefully ripping the paddle from Keith’s clutches. “I don’t want—and you probably don’t want—a _nude portrait of Lotor_. I don’t care if we get it or not.”

Keith stared at him, all hyped up on adrenaline that it took a moment for him to even relax under the storm of people bidding in front of them, and a pocket of people on the other side of the room continuously raising their numbered paddles. 

The bidders started to thin out after five-thousand, but they strung along as the auctioneer jumped the price to six-thousand, skipping at five-hundred intervals to eight-thousand. A man in front of Lance got the painting at a price of seven-thousand five-hundred.

Coran padded him on the hand as Lance pried his fingers from around Coran’s palm. He didn’t feel nearly as numb as he thought he would, especially when the older man twisted around in her seat to peg Lance with her piercing blue eyes. “You have so much talent, young man.”

“Th-Thank you,” he stammered, blushing.

“Is your name Lance McClain?” the man asked, and as their interest peeked, the man stretched a hand over the back of his chair to shake Lance’s hand. “Alfor Altea. I donated to the addition on Altea Hall nearly a decade back. My daughter goes to Arnette and said you might be here.”

Lance leant forward, not sure if he heard the man right. He laughed nervously before saying, “Are you— _serious_? Altea Hall is _named after—_ ”

“You’re Allura’s father,” Keith said, and if possible, Lance was even more confused by it. 

Alfor smiled at them, and nodded to Lance again, “Allura told me about what happened with your painting up there. I can’t imagine your professors even know the extent of your artistic abilities.”

Lance was so incredibly flattered that he couldn’t even formulate the words to say so. He suck into his chair with a meager, “Thank you, sir.” Coran laughed and Luxia leant over him to rub her hand against Lance’s shoulder. It wasn’t until she did that that he felt how hot his eyes were. _Oh God, please don’t cry here. Please don’t cry_.

The auctioneer started listing off the prices for the next painting, and one of the assistants came over to write down Alfor’s name and contact information for Lance’s painting. Luxia cooed, “Oh, sweetie… I’m so proud of you.” Lance laughed a little, rubbing his hands over his eyes as he took deep breaths and tried to calm the fuck down. It wasn’t every day he was complimented by a _donor of the University_.

  


  


Lotor wasn’t around at the end of the auction, and Lance figured that he didn’t even care whether or not Lotor followed through with what he said earlier—to come talk with him after the auction. Allura’s father took Lance around and introduced him to the other people who bid on the painting. It was all a blur of Lance constantly surrounded by the thought of having his name mentioned to such powerful people, of how surreal the whole experience was, and how _Alfor Altea_ talked to him like he was already a professional in his field.

At the end of the day around dusk, they turned on the chandeliers as everyone started to file out of the building. Alfor gave Lance his champagne, but it didn’t taste as good as Lance expected so he just took one sip and that was it. 

“Allura had so many excellent things to say about you,” Alfor said. “Yesterday, actually.”

“Really?” Lance was surprised—he hadn’t thought Allura would even _want_ to be on good terms with him, especially after everything that happened with his roommate. “Well that was nice of her.”

“Yes. I was actually wondering if you’d want to paint a portrait of her—of course, not as sultry as the one up there, but if you’d like… I would like to commission you for it,” he said.

Once again, Lance laughed nervously and asked, “Um, really? I don’t—I don’t know what to say.”

They were interrupted by Keith swinging in saying, “He says yes.” He slipped his arm around Lance’s waist as Alfor threw his head back and laughed, and Lance silently thanked Keith for bursting in like that. He felt his brain sparking and flashing against the back of his eyes.

“Great, I could call you and give you more information—”

“My phone is actually… out of commission,” Lance confessed. “But you can email me if you like! Or I could talk to your daughter the next time we see each other!”

He wrote down his contact information on a napkin and handed it to Alfor before the man said his farewell for the night and walked off. Lance and Keith watched him go, and later they said goodbye to Coran and Luxia on the sidewalk. The temperature had lifted, but still warranted gloves and hats as they walked outside together. 

The second they were out of earshot from all the women in fur coats and men who deserved top hats, Lance threw his arms in the air and yelled, “ _That was ah-mazing!”_

“You really need to get a business card or something,” Keith told him, grinning as Lance ran up and twirled around a lamppost. “And… you also need to run off some steam. Let’s go for a walk.”

Lance did leprechaun hops all down the street past their parking garage. He jumped off garden ledges and jump-attacked Keith from behind. It was still light out, but all the street lamps were on and there was dirty brown slush on the sides of the road. Street signs were lit up and glowing against the slick asphalt, and the tracks Lance’s feet made as they slid across the sidewalk.

He was already at the stoplight when he realized that Keith wasn’t even behind him. Lance twisted around, looking for his boyfriend, only to find him standing farther up the sidewalk staring across the street. “What are you looking at?” Lance asked, marching back over and standing beside Keith.

They both stared across the street. Lance had been down this way before to know that Blick’s Art Materials was down the road and around the corner two blocks down. It was on the colorful side of the downtown where rainbow murals colored brick and concrete walls, topped with bright, obnoxious pink lights for dance bars and strip clubs.

Keith was staring at one of the club signs with his wide eyes. The neon lights reflected on his pale cheeks. 

Keith turned to Lance, grabbed him by the shoulders and said with complete and utter certainty, “I want to try pole dancing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **THE END**
> 
> I'll post the epilogue soon my dude.
> 
> [You'll find me frantically planning my next few books.](https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/BG6SFSS) <<\-- Link to the survey to help spark some ideas. I love to hear your thoughts and believe it or not, I get a LOT of my ideas from these things. Feel free to add your thoughts or none at all because I will be writing either way.
> 
> I have a big project coming up for the [Supernova Big Bang](https://vldsupernovabang.tumblr.com/), but before I even end up WRITING that, I have a short fic idea that I'll probably plan and write for a week or so. If you're wondering about what I'm writing/when I'll post it, you can find me active on either of the two links below.  
>    
>  _Some links my dudes:_  
> [ **Tumblr**](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/) | [**Twitter**](https://twitter.com/geewiIIikers)


	26. Epilogues Are For Dweebs Here's A 5k Chapter Of McClain Fluff

It started with, “You should just come to my house for Thanksgiving if you’re not gonna go home.” Now, Lance and Keith were stuck in his Ma’s minivan on the way to southern Oregon. Lance was almost certain that Keith barely knew what was happening the second they tossed their bags into the trunk, and slammed the door behind them whilst already rolling out of the Kingsley parking lot. The man looked actually, literally _scared_.

“How many siblings did you say you had?” Keith asked under his breath.

“Just two. Rosa and Julian.”

“And you’re the oldest?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. That’s not so bad,” Keith breathed out, semi-relaxing back into his seat. “I don’t know why but I was expecting, like, you being one of six.”

“Wouldn’t that be a disaster,” his Ma said with a laugh. “I can barely stand the three of them.”

“ _Mama_ …” Lance whined as his boyfriend proceeded to laugh and tease Lance for being a handful. The drive south was mostly propelled by the two of them teasing Lance about this-or-that—specifically Keith informing Lance’s mother of every weird thing he did since they last saw her. They got on the topic of Keith’s stray cat, who was under the surveillance of Nyma for the break.

“And you haven’t named it yet?” she chastised. “ _Keith_!”

“You’re just like Lance! He keeps complaining that we can’t keep calling her Kitty,” Keith whined, and was further reprimanded for the half-assed name choice.

It didn’t take long for Keith’s nervousness to subside. At their first stop for gas, Keith claimed shotgun and talked to Lance’s mom for the remainder of the trip about anything and everything she asked about. Lance listened in quietly, because he hadn’t heard much about Keith’s parents aside from what Shay talked about. Keith had stories about them from San Francisco living in the hippy movement, and how they hitched a ride north and never looked back from there. A friend of their’s let them stay in the house they currently resided in, even after he passed away at the early age of forty. Keith only remembered bits and pieces of the guy, namely his scraggly beard and how they used to go on walks in the Redwood Forests.

“You live such a whimsical life,” his Ma concluded.

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Keith confessed with a laugh. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

For a little while there, Lance fell asleep against the window until he felt the car slow going through his neighborhood’s streets. He recognized the sway of the car turning around curvy corners, and gliding down the big hill his siblings used to cruise down their bikes with. Everything was dotted with fresh snow, and it _looked_ like Christmas rather than Thanksgiving. The music on the radio was soft, and everyone was quiet up until the point he saw his Ma glance over her shoulder to look at him. 

“We’re almost there,” she said. “Oh they’ll be so excited to _see you_! Rosa hasn’t shut up about you coming home for over a week.”

“I’m not prepared to be attacked,” Lance grunted, stretching his arms behind him. The air was sleepy and dreamy, covered by an overcast and the prospect of a warm fireplace inside. 

When they rolled up onto the driveway, they found Lance’s sister waiting underneath the open garage door. She backed away as they parked beside her, and the second Lance stepped out of the door, Rosa collided with him, her mess of brown curls tickling his cheeks and chin. “ _Lance_! Lance, Lance, _Lance!_ ” she sang, giggling as she kicked her legs up so he was forced to carry her away from the car so he could close the door.

“Careful! My legs are asleep from being stuck in the car,” he warned, staggering away and plopping her back on to her feet. “How’s it going?”

“Good! Tell me about college,” she demanded. “And— _Keith!_ ” Keith froze up against his open door, and reluctantly accepted the hug she tackled him with. He laughed nervously and patted Rosa’s back all while looking at Lance with that face that said, “Help me!”

“C’mon, Rosa, give ‘em space. Help them with their bags,” Lance’s Ma ordered, waving Rosa off and snapping her fingers at Lance. “You. Go get Keith’s bag.”

“But—!”

“No ‘but’s! I’m going to show Keith around the house and introduce him to your brother,” she argued, pegging Lance with her immovable expression. Lance sighed in defeat and left to help Rosa out.

Meeting Julian must have gone well, because by the time Lance came into the living room, he found the two of them sitting together ranting about… was that genocide? Keith glanced over and motioned Lance over, saying, “We were just talking about how f-ed up Thanksgiving is. And that there’s still a genocide going on against Native Americans because we’ve practically smothered their population for centuries.”

“Well this… is a lovely topic,” Lance commented.

“They’ve been hammering it into our skulls for the past three years,” Julian deadpanned. “Also, hi Lance.”

“Hey. You haven’t changed a bit,” he commented somewhat sarcastically, because that just wasn’t the case. So much had changed about Julian that he hadn’t noticed before. His baby brother had an _undercut_ now, and who’s eyebrows just _looked that good?_ Julian always had their father’s black hair and heavy brows, so the fact that they were suddenly tame was a mystery to Lance. “Have you… been plucking your eyebrows?” he asked, reaching over to touch Julian’s forehead.

Julian slapped Lance’s hand away and snapped, “Ey! Watch it—Mama practically straps me to the table to pluck them for me.”

“Ouch,” Keith said.

“She never did that for me…” Lance whined.

“That’s because you don’t have anything to pluck,” Keith argued, and was given a high-five for it from Julian. “Seriously. Your eyebrows are nonexistent.”

“Are not!” he cried out, slapping his hands over his brows to ensure that they were still there. They were.

They talked about eyebrows and why Mama would attack Julian like that. Evidently it initially had to do with her wanting Julian to look his best for homecoming. Their conversation would have continued had Rosa not come in after dispensing Lance’s bag in his old room. “Mama told me to move Keith’s things into your room,” she said. “Came to ask if that’s okay.”

“She did?” Lance said, scowling. He glanced at Keith, who shrugged. “Keith’s things can stay in the guest room.”

“Mama said to fight you if you said to keep Keith’s things in the guest room.”

“ _Lance!_ ” his Mama’s voice could carry far if she tried, and it caused all of the McClain children to flinch and Keith to laugh. Not a moment later, they heard her footsteps marching down the hall, and as Lance whined, “ _Mama…_ ” she arrived, hands on her hips.

She pegged them down and jabbed her finger at them. Rosa looked like the spitting image of her, standing like a dutiful soldier next to their Ma. “I see nothing wrong with the two of you staying in the same room.”

“We’re fine in separate rooms, Ma,” Lance said.

“It’s really okay, Mrs. McClain,” Keith insisted, his amused smile still there. “We don’t usually sleep in the same room anyways.”

She squinted at them, but took the bait. “Fine. You’re off the hook Rosa.”

“Thanks,” Rosa beamed, accepting the pat on her head before heading over to sit beside Julian. Lance continued to squint at her until Keith punched him in the arm for it and told him to get a grip. It annoyed him that his mom assumed that just because they were dating, they just _had_ to sleep in the same room. Who was she to dictate how their relationship functioned? They were perfectly capable of being together without spending every waking moment with one another.

Whatever the case, some part of what his Ma assumed must have been true.

That night after a wild game of Cards Against Humanity and having to explain what smegma was to Rosa, Lance found himself standing beside Keith in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. Keith had a hand on his hip as he scrubbed the brush bristles against his teeth and tongue before spitting out the foam. “Your family’s really cool,” he said.

“That’s one thing we disagree on,” Lance joked, and spat out his toothpaste after Keith leaned back. “But I don’t know. Whatever you say.”

“I’m serious. They’re _normal_ and I think that’s pretty cool.”

Lance glanced at Keith through the mirror before Keith nudged behind him and headed out the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, yeah? If I’m asleep when you wake up, kick me or something.”

“Okay, will do,” he laughed.

And that was how the night went. Lance slept, woke up, and got ready for the day before checking to see if Keith was awake. When he found Keith still knocked the fuck out, he waiting another twenty minutes before rousing him with a nudge on his shoulder. Sunlight cut through the blinds, and in the faint light of the bedroom, he saw Keith squint at him as he rolled around and shoved his hand against Lance’s face. 

He groaned as he tossed his blankets off and muttered, “Thanks. I’m up.”

That day was all preparation for Thanksgiving dinner with the family over at their grandparents’ house. They spent far too long at the grocery store waiting in line to pay for their last-minute shopping. They spent far too long in the kitchen—all day, in fact, cooking and baking and playing card games while they waited in between oven cycles. 

It was a rush to get to the dinner on time. It involved running to the minivan, packing it with supplies, before fighting over shotgun until Keith was deemed the ultimate champion. 

As with every Thanksgiving dinner, they were automatically signed up for an epic food baby, especially after catching a whiff of his grandma’s peanut butter fudge bars, or his grandpa’s homemade apple pie… Lance was pleasantly surprised by how his anxiety pretty much vanished prior to the dinner. He was never really concerned about what his grandparents or relatives thought about who he dated or brought to meals, because so far, he hadn’t gotten a bad review. And while Keith may not have been the center of attention, he certainly wasn’t a negative addition to the dinner table. 

Their food babies pitched everyone into a food-coma that were the ultimate reason why everyone went home for the night. Lance was so exhausted that he fell asleep against Keith’s shoulder on the way back home, and found that Keith had done the same sometime along the way. 

“All right kids, we’re home,” his Ma said as she parked in the garage. Rosa slid out of the passenger seat and slouched into the house with Julian behind her, carrying several empty trays from the dinner. Lance climbed out and helped Keith jump down without tripping over his sleepy feet. They wandered into the house together, hands linked together and Lance’s Ma following after them. Before she left to head upstairs to her room, she stopped Lance and kissed him on the forehead. 

“Sleep well,” she murmured against his skin. He hummed in acknowledgement, smiling at her before heading after Keith to the bathroom. 

He bumped the door closed with his hip and ignored the fact that Keith instantly dropped his pant zipper and raised the toilet seat lid. While he pissed, Lance started brushing his teeth and hastily looked anywhere but Keith’s face even though he knew Keith was staring at him through the mirror reflection. 

Keith zipped his pants up again before reaching over and washing his hands. “I can’t remember the last time I ate that much,” he said, and Lance mumbled in agreement. “My parents don’t celebrate Thanksgiving so we never did anything like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s basically glamorizing and glazing over the fact that we destroyed the lives of thousands of Native Americans. You know there were thousands of tribes in North America? And it wasn’t like they stuck to their own territories and avoided all the others. They, like, _actually communicated with one another_ and they all had their own languages that are nothing like what we speak with today. It’s difficult to translate _anything_ without using abstract ideas and concepts and _feelings we don’t have words for_. It’s incredible.”

“I never knew,” Lance confessed, surprised by the random burst of knowledge. “How do you know that?”

He hesitated a moment, the tube of toothpaste hovering over his toothbrush. “My parents were interested in their culture,” he said, glancing up only briefly before snapping the tube shut. “Especially how they used plants medicinally. They don’t believe in hospitals or doctors. I’ve only been to the doctor once and it was because my parents didn’t vaccinate me for chickenpox. I’m still pissed at them for it.”

“Oh, that sucks. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, if I ever get the shingles you’ll know why,” he scoffed before stuffing his toothbrush in his mouth and scrubbing away all the leftovers from dinner. Lance started washing his face, and after they took turns so Keith could spit out his toothpaste, he added, “I’ve never been to the dentist. Never got my wisdom teeth which is just fucking lucky.”

“No kidding. You’ve never been to the dentist?” Lance said, raising his eyebrows as Keith nodded. “Wait, lemme see your teeth.”

“Well I haven’t _lost any yet—_ ”

“I wanna see ‘em. C’mon, open your mouth,” he laughed, gesturing for Keith to show him. 

Keith rolled his eyes and looked away from Lance as he parted his jaws and pulled his tongue back for Lance to see his teeth. They just looked like any ordinary person’s mouth, and the front row was rather straight. His bottom teeth in the back were kind of tilted inwards, and they flattened out in the front, but other than that they weren’t exactly a _disaster_. 

“You’re lucky you weren’t this close to having jaw surgery. I had awful teeth. Braces for nearly eight years,” Lance said, letting Keith close his mouth. “Overbite, overlapping teeth—one tooth was growing straight out like that. It was ridiculous. Got dry socket after they removed my wisdom teeth…”

“That sounds like a shit show.”

“It was. But I can’t even imagine chickenpox.”

“It’s nothing like _eight years_ of braces,” he laughed as Lance leant over the sink and rubbed water over the yellow paste on his face. He had his eyes closed as he scrubbed his fingers over his cheeks, lips shut tight to keep from tasting the face wash. Before he could stand up to get a towel, he felt Keith lean in to him, his arms going around Lance’s torso as he pressed his cheek to Lance’s upper back. 

Lance straightened up, but Keith didn’t move away. They stood together in the bathroom as Lance dried his face on one of the tea towels, and Keith busied himself with hugging Lance. The funniest part was that he was certain he could count the number of times Keith _seriously_ hugged him just by ticking them off on his fingers. Even after he finished drying his face, he just stood there until Keith got it out of his system considering it wasn’t every day they hugged. The amount of times they _seriously_ cuddled were limited to Keith using Lance as a human body pillow when he didn’t already have one. Apparently body pillows were more comfortable to cuddle than an actual body.

Keith didn’t say anything as he drifted towards the door, his hand dragging against Lance’s lower back and sending a shiver down it straight to his crotch. _Curse_ his inability to control himself. It was happening more frequently than he cared to admit, so he was thankful that Keith didn’t even turn around on his way out the door because Lance had to take a moment to just lean against the counter and think about dead puppies and that time Julian kicked him in the balls because that was definitely one way to get rid of the heat _down there_.

The door shut quietly behind Keith, and Lance began desperately splashing water on his face before finishing off his face routine. Thanksgiving left him with a lot of literal shit, so he relieved himself of the burden. It took another minute before he was ever even able to scrape up the strength to walk down the hallway to his room. 

Since leaving for college, his mom stripped his room almost completely of anything that survived his adolescent years. The walls were doused in tan instead of navy, and his raised windowsills were still painted white and accented with fake plants because his Ma couldn’t keep a cactus alive for more than a week. The slotted blinds were closed for the night from where they stopped on the windowsill that barely reached Lance’s biceps. He peeked between the blinds to see the backyard all covered in nightfall and snow.

He crawled into his bed after shutting off the lights. His Ma tried to peal off the stickies from the ceiling, but some of them survived despite her war against them. They were faded and practically nonexistent—they didn’t even look like the planets at this point aside from their obviously circular shapes. He stared at the decorative photographs his Ma hung up on one of the now-empty walls.

 _Such a boring room_ , he mused. It didn’t even feel like his old room anymore. It was just another guest bedroom.

As per any usual night, it took forever for Lance to fall asleep. He spent that time on his phone, scrolling through Tumblr whilst squinting through the dark in his tired, sleepy way. In the midst of letting out a yawn, he swore he heard a faint knock on his door so he said, “Come in.”

His door inched open until someone peered in. He recognized the mess of Keith’s hair instantly considering Julian’s hair wasn’t nearly that long _or_ perfect. “Can I come in?” Keith asked in a whisper.

Lance stared at him for a solid minute before scrambling to sit up straighter. “Sure. What’s up?” he asked. The invitation lured Keith in. He shut the door quietly behind him before padding over across the carpet. Lance scooted to the left to make room, and soon he found Keith crawling onto the bed and under the blankets. 

“’S cold,” he murmured, searching blindly for Lance’s legs just so he could slap his bare feet on them and send a shiver over Lance’s entire body.

“H-Holy shit you’re _freezing_ ,” Lance hissed, shuddering as he hugged the blankets closer and tried to kick Keith off of him. It just gave Keith permission to giggle and try and tease him with his feet. They kicked around the bed until Keith _actually_ kicked Lance in the shin with the heel of his foot, and they were forced to calm down in fear of making a racket. 

Lance was surprised to feel Keith rest his head against Lance’s shoulder. It was weird because Keith always complained about his shoulder being too boney and uncomfortable, and that he couldn’t understand why Lance found it so relaxing to lounge against Keith’s shoulder when they sat together on his bed at the Co-Op. He sighed and tipped his head against Keith’s hair, and closed his eyes in total bliss. This was perfect.

They were barely motionless for a minute before Keith started wriggling around. He pushed an arm over Lance’s chest, and his face against Lance’s shoulder and neck. The hot moisture of Keith’s breath was just a taste of when Keith licked at the skin of his throat and _Jesus H. Christ_ —

“Wh-What’re you—” Lance started, but the words fizzled up in his mouth the moment he pushed his lips to Lance’s neck and laid perfect, pristine kisses up Lance’s jugular. 

_I can roll with this_ , Lance told himself as he tipped his chin towards Keith as his lips traveled up to meet Lance’s. They merged together as Keith lifted himself up onto his elbows, pressing his chest to Lance’s, and filling every speck of cold winter air with the gentle touch of his lips. His fingers spilled heat over every surface of Lance’s skin that he touched, dragging them down over Lance’s chest, pushing against his abdomen, sinking into the dips around his pelvis…

“Oh my _God—_ ” Lance breathed between kisses. “ _Keith—_ ”

Keith pulled away a bit, his fingers on the hem of Lance’s boxers. He hesitated for a moment before kissing Lance _hard_ —again and again muttering, “ _Fuck_ …” so sensually that it took a minute for Lance’s foggy brain to realize that Keith was starting to sound _furious_. 

He reached for Keith’s hand and found it shaking against his boxers. Panic seized Lance’s chest as he sat up a little, still clutching his hand on the hem of Keith’s baggy pajama shirt. He leaned over the bed and tapped the end table’s lamp stand to turn on a light. When his eyes focused, Keith’s lips were raw from making out, and trembling as he dragged his free hand down his face. 

“Whoa—what’s wrong?” Lance demanded, reaching up and pulling his hands through Keith’s mess of black hair, dragging it away from his red eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I-I just—I just wanted to—” he stammered out, breath shaking as he stopped to suck in his bottom lip. “I don’t know.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” he said, shaking his head with a soft smile on his lips. 

Keith blinked the glassiness out of his eyes and looked away from Lance as he said, “Sometimes I wish we could have a _normal_ relationship. Like… wh-why can’t I be the fucking guy who fucks his boyfriend at his parent’s house because it’s _hot_ and _sexy_ and I’m not _any of those things_.” He uttered the words harshly, and threw his hands down furiously at the idea of it. 

Lance stared at him with startled eyes, thankful that his brain was capable of skipping over the fact that Keith just attempted to have _sex with him in his parent’s house_. “Hey, it’s okay. We don’t have to and I don’t mind. And you were _hella_ hot and sexy. That was the sexiest make out session in my entire life and it had nothing to do with kissing—which is weird, and kind of…counterintuitive now that I think about it.”

Keith scowled at him with that same subtly his stoic expressions often gave. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said.

“I’m not being ridiculous! I’m telling you the truth,” Lance laughed.

“But even when I _try,_ half the time I can’t even get a boner so it’s not like it would have worked anyways,” he muttered, and the mention of it sent Lance’s gaze down to where he could feel himself straining against the front of his boxers. _Fuck_. He gingerly grabbed a pillow from the side and placed it over his lap, which just caused Keith to blurt out, “See? Why can’t I pop up that fast!”

“Maybe you just don’t find me sexy,” Lance said, and as Keith opened his mouth to argue, he added, “Which is totally fine! I never pegged myself as sexy to begin with. Mostly I just say shit like that because it’s fun and I come off as hella confident. Don’t you think?”

“Makes you come off as a fuckboy, but whatever,” Keith muttered, pushing himself off Lance’s legs so he could sit alongside Lance on the bed. He brushed the back of his hand over his lips and said, “I feel like I need to brush my teeth again. No offense but kissing is kind of boring.”

“Aw, really? I had a lot of fun,” Lance whined jokingly. He really hadn’t meant to make Keith’s eyes turn red again, panicky as he started to _actually cry_. “Whoa, what’s the matter? Did I say something wrong? I was just kidding—”

“But you _weren’t_ , Lance,” he hissed out, trying desperately to keep his voice down. “Th-That’s the _point_. I-It’s like those fuckboys who are too into sports and whatever and they try to get their girlfriends invested in it by really they just don’t fucking care. I-I feel like I-I’m constantly undermining the things you love in a relationship just because I don’t f-find them interesting or appealing.”

Lance picked at the frayed corner of the pillow on his lap. Sure, he thought about it, but in the end he didn’t even care all that much _what_ they did so long as Keith was happy. In some ways, Lance was already a pushover, and his relationship with Keith was just highlighting that aspect. But he was fine with the way things were—he wasn’t just _fine_ , he was in _Heaven_ just _being_ with someone like Keith. 

It didn’t matter whether or not they… fucked in his parent’s house. Because he always just assumed that one day Keith would be ready for it and whether that be a year or ten years from now was indifferent to Lance.

The best way he could sum that up without turning into a sappy, blubbering mess was to say, “Well… I’m not gonna _die_ of blue-balls or whatever, so… I wouldn’t worry about it. Honestly I don’t care _what_ we do if you’re happy with the way things are. Are you okay with the way things are?”

Keith didn’t even hesitate to nod, which led Lance to push his head against Keith’s like one of those cats who butts its head up against your legs. He nuzzled his nose against his boyfriends heavy black hair and said, “Then I’m okay with blue-balls once in a while.”

Keith chuckled, the sadness in his voice lifting if only a little. He tipped his head against Lance’s, and turned so their noses touched. “I’m sorry. That was… a disaster. I’m not usually like that, I promise,” Keith murmured, eyes closed. Lance could see the moisture speckling Keith’s eyelashes, and so he reached up, fingers resting on Keith’s cheeks as he brushed a thumb gently over Keith’s closed eyes. He could feel the raised surface of his irises.

“I’m a disaster half the time. I don’t know why _you’re_ apologizing,” he scoffed. “I’m seriously! If one of us had to be a disaster, it’s me! I don’t know how you put up with my sleep-deprived ass half the time.”

Keith giggled, his laughs breathy as he opened his eyes and met Lance’s gaze straight-on for a moment. “I’m not usually a disaster because you’re so awesome at avoiding… situations like this. Thanks, I guess. For not being a hormonal ass.”

“But I am a hormonal ass—!”

“No, not like other guys. Trust me,” he insisted, shaking his head. He leant back against the pillows, pushing his fingers through his hair. “And I don’t want you to think I’m not into sex and romance _because of them_. I’ve never been all that into those types of things since… _forever_. I always just thought crushes and stuff were a requirement in middle school and high school and shit.

“But I never understood crushes! I never understood them—! Because what’s the point of ‘ _liking someone_ ’ and never actually acting on it? So I’d act on aesthetic attraction and one time I ended up in a situation like _this_ but I was pressured to just follow through with it because _I started it_. You know what I mean?”

Lance was struck into silence. It was like a pen just lodged itself in his throat and merely caused his Adam’s apple to bob when he swallowed what Keith said. What Keith _meant_. “Keith…” he started, but couldn’t even consider finishing the thought.

Keith rubbed his hands over his eyes, saying, “It’s stupid. I didn’t know what I was fucking doing. Now not only do I hate sex, but I’m _scared of it_ and I wish I wasn’t! I wish I wasn’t and sometimes I think, like… if that hadn’t happened, would I still see it as something so terrifying? And I know being sex-repulsed is a serious thing but… I still think I would be regardless of trauma. The entire concept of it is just disgusting and a cesspool of _diseases_ and _viruses_ and gross cleanup afterwards—”

“Yeah, it is kind of disgusting,” Lance agreed. “But so is, like… cooking. Like, baking a cake is a ridiculous undertaking and if you think your countertop’s gonna be clean afterwards, you _seriously_ need to reconsider your outlook on baking. Flour— _everywhere_. Frosting, dirty dishes, that spoonful of egg yoke on the _ceiling_ …”

Keith smiled at him, grateful for the metaphor. “But at least at the end of baking a cake you have a cake to eat. I’d rather just have the cake if I’m being completely honest.”

“That—wait, why does that sound familiar?” he asked, squinting at Keith. “Have we talked about this before?”

“Pidge might have said something.”

“ _Inside jokes_. Gosh, you guys have your own _inside jokes and everything_.” Lance twisted and flopped backwards over Keith’s legs. He settled in, hands high over his head and dangling off the edge of the bed. He smirked at Keith—that sly grin he _thought_ was so sly, but he probably looked like he was constipated. Either way, it succeeded in making Keith laugh. 

Keith tipped over, and together they laid horizontal on the bed in the wrong direction. “Sorry for not being better at this,” Lance said.

“It’s fine. I don’t really like being coddled anyways.”

“Coddling is such a weird word to begin with, so I agree,” he confessed. They sighed in unison, staring at the faded planets on the ceiling together. Lance reached for Keith’s hand and linked their fingers together, and after a few minutes, his eyelids began to drift. The light was still on, and he felt Keith look up at it. 

After a moment, Keith said, “Could I use you as a body pillow tonight?”

“Pff, always,” Lance scoffed. “So long as you turn off the light.”

He twisted around and settled onto his side while Keith reached over and tapped the base of the lap. The lights went out, and he closed his eyes so he could feel just the moment when Keith shifted around him and twisted his legs around Lance’s. He tucked his arm underneath Lance’s, and laid his hand over Lance’s bare chest. 

After maneuvering the blankets over them, they laid sideways on the bed for the night. Lance settled his hand over his chest where he could link his fingers between Keith’s, and remind himself over and over again that he had to be the happiest man alive. Dating someone like Keith tended to do that to a person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally wrote this so I could squeak in a bit of Keith's backstory. But just to reiterate what he was talking about:
> 
> It's entirely possible that rape victims are sex-repulsed, which I consider to be a part of the asexual spectrum—some people don't and that's fine. But not all asexual individuals experienced trauma! Nor are they perfect little angels by any means! That said, celibacy is NOT asexuality because celibacy is a CHOICE asexuality ISN'T. Honestly I think Keith still wouldn't experience sexual attraction even if he hadn't been raped. That said, he talked about **aesthetic attraction** , and if you want to read more on variations of attraction, you can look [here](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/post/161491156065/different-types-of-attraction). Squish is also on the list lol.
> 
> What happened to Keith was something like [corrective rape](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corrective_rape) because his partner figured he just needed to be introduced to sex to actually enjoy it. Pidge said something along the lines of "it's like forcing a coffee-drinker to drink tea in hopes of them one day getting used to tea."
> 
>  _Some links my dudes:_  
> [ **Tumblr**](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/) | [**Twitter**](https://twitter.com/geewiIIikers) | [A survey for readers to influence my future works](https://girlskylark.typeform.com/to/zkiD8u)


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